


What You Call Sin

by into_the_midst



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Minor Violence, Post-Canon, Scars, Slow Burn, tagged ship is endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29322264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/into_the_midst/pseuds/into_the_midst
Summary: The war is over and the castle rebuilt, and Hermione returns to Hogwarts in hopes of their first normal year. But Hogwarts unveils a new plan for unity, mixing all students into a new house. Any hopes for a quiet year are dashed when Hermione is left to share a dorm with Draco Malfoy.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 18
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

Last time Hermione sat in the Great Hall, injured and mourning people littered the floors. The ceiling had been broken, the wall behind the teacher's table half gone, and bodies on pallets where the house tables now sat. Fred's body had been an arm's reach behind where she now sat, waiting for the feast to begin.

Maybe she shouldn't have come back. The castle had been rebuilt, but the memories of the battle lingered. Only a few months ago, blood coated the stones beneath her feet.

Ron's hand found hers under the table, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze.

Professor—no, Headmaster McGonagall came to the podium at the front of the room. She rested both hands on it, taking in the room as she steeled her expression. She gave each of the tables a long appraisal before beginning the welcoming speech.

"At the end of last term, we united together in these very halls to undertake the greatest trial of our lifetime. It was a fight none of you should have needed to face, and yet you stepped up to face it with confidence and strength. We overcame that trial together, and together, we'll begin to rebuild."

Her lips pursed tightly before continuing. "The divisions between us were made all too clear, and it is our belief that we must do all we can to narrow the distinctions contrived here. Hogwarts was built on the principle of separating and dividing students, and this year, we will take our first steps toward mending the divide."

Whispers broke out among all the tables. She tightened her grip on Ron’s hand, and met Harry’s gaze across the table. McGonagall was too nervous to be building toward good news. She was preparing for backlash, and the anticipation drummed in Hermione's chest.

“This year,” she went on, and the whispers hushed, “After the first years are Sorted, the rest of you will be as well. We have asked the Sorting Hat to place everyone in a house different than their original.”

Protests erupted, and McGonagall allowed it.

Harry’s face paled. Beside her, Ron added his voice to the protests. She knew what to expect when the three of them were Sorted again. They would have to leave behind Gryffindor. They would be placed in different Houses. Harry’s first home would be lost, and on top of that, an identity the three of them clung to would be stripped away.

After a minute of protests, McGonagall raised a hand, and the room slowly quieted.

“I understand the disappointment this has caused. But for too long Hogwarts has encouraged enmity between our Houses. You will still have plenty of occasion to spend time with your old housemates. The tables here are no longer strictly for each House. House points will all be combined, and if the total passes a certain threshold, all students will take part in the reward. Our new aim is to bring everyone together. No one within these halls is to be considered an enemy.”

Too many people turned to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy sat, staring at the front of the room. News of his trial covered the front pages of the Prophet for a week over the summer. The fact Harry had spoken in his defense sent waves across the continent, and even more, that the word of Harry Potter hadn’t gotten him off entirely. His parole meant he was the only student required to attend this year.

“Now, if all the first years will make their way to the front,” McGonagall said, gesturing to the waiting stool.

“They’re barking,” Ron said once the Sorting had begun. “I mean, they can’t really expect to put us somewhere we don’t belong.”

“They’re just doing this to fix the problems Slytherin caused,” Ginny said. “Why not just disband the entire house?”

“Because she’s saying everyone needs to try forgiveness,” Hermione said.

“I’m going to be in Slytherin.”

Harry’s voice came the quietest, but seemed to hold the most weight. Maybe the four of them weren’t the only ones who knew where Harry had nearly been Sorted, and the faculty hoped his Resorting would make an impact. Who would discriminate against Slytherin if Harry Potter wore their emblem?

“Maybe we can all ask the hat to be sorted together,” Ron said. “You said it listened to you before.”

Ginny nodded. “And we’d still end up in a new house, so it would make their point.”

Hermione watched some of the first years walking up to the front of the room, grateful they were being properly sorted. Maybe all the future classes could be assigned according to their character if the inherent biases lessened by then.

After the first years, the Resorting began. Getting through each year didn’t take as long as Hermione imagined it would. Not as many came back this year. Not everyone had made it through last. The rushing time might’ve only been in her head, as they sped nearer and nearer to the older years.

Ginny kissed Harry’s cheek when McGonagall called for the seventh years to take their turn, and whispered something to him before joining the rest of her class. She fell in beside Luna, who held out a hand to wave in their direction, the only person in the room who didn’t seem to mind this change. In fact, she was delighted when her turn came and the hat pronounced her “Gryffindor!” She skipped to the Gryffindor table, familiar to her with all the time she spent there before.

Ginny stared down the room with determination when declared Slytherin, daring anyone to say a word against it.

Finally, it came time for the eighth years. Hermione and Ron let go of each other’s hand during the walk to the front of the room, but stayed close, arms brushing. She felt the stares of everyone behind them, and squared her shoulders. They needed to be a positive example.

Hannah Abbott was the first to go, and smiled at the proclamation of Gryffindor. Everyone brought heightened nerves with them. Susan to Slytherin took the room by surprise, then Terry to Hufflepuff, Millicent to Ravenclaw, and with every name that passed, they all grew more agitated.

Hermione wiped her hands on her robes, hoping they would stop sweating. She knew she would end up in Ravenclaw. For six years, people questioned why she hadn’t been sorted there. Her nerves were for Harry’s sake, and slightly for Ron’s. Changing houses only changed where they slept and what robes they wore, she told herself.

She repeated the thought as a mantra and kept her head high while she stepped up for her turn. The hat immediately placed her in Ravenclaw, and she smiled graciously. There had been no moment to ask for a different placement, no chance to negotiate. Putting up any sort of debate while the entire school watched wasn’t optional, and she stepped down to her new house table.

After a few more students received their new placements, the room went silent. Malfoy set his jaw in response to his own name and stepped forward. The hat didn’t take any longer for him than it had for Hermione.

“Ravenclaw!”

He nodded and went to the Ravenclaw table without giving any emotion. He sat with Millicent, across from Hermione, and only then let out a breath.

Hermione thought that placement was equally obvious as hers. Draco had been at the top of their class every year, and wasn’t brave or particularly loyal, even if he did give Theodore Nott a small smile when he joined them.

The biggest surprise, Hermione thought, was the placement of the Slytherins. Goyle ended up in Hufflepuff, and Pansy in Gryffindor. To her, almost every Slytherin felt like they had no other character traits. Maybe that internal bias was the reason for all this.

The surprise over Harry’s placement into Slytherin caused an uproar that couldn’t be tamed for several minutes. People insisted it had been rigged, that they told the hat to place him there only to prove a point. Harry Potter couldn’t be a Slytherin.

Across the table from Hermione, Draco shook his head.

“Something funny?” she asked.

“It’s like they forgot second year.”

It was a more reasonable answer than she expected. Their year and the current seventh years certainly spent a majority of year two convinced Harry was the heir of Slytherin. Those people were now the loudest opposition in the room.

McGonagall finally regained order, and carried on with the rest of the Sorting. Dinner had been waiting for an hour by that point, adding another layer to the general irritability. The remaining students dwindled, and soon, it was Ron’s turn. The hat took long enough that Hermione assumed he was arguing. Would he ask for the house of his best friend or his girlfriend?

In the end, it didn’t matter. The hat declared him for Hufflepuff, and Ron flushed a deep red. He gave Hermione on embarrassed look, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly on the way to his new table.

The Resorting ended with Blaise Zabini, Gryffindor.

They went to three different houses after all. Hermione let herself feel grateful they all had someone. Parvati had been sorted into Ravenclaw with her, Neville into Hufflepuff with Ron, and Ginny with Harry.

“Padma’s never had anything but praise for the Ravenclaw Tower,” Parvati said. “I wonder what she’ll think of Gryffindor.”

“You’ll have to compare notes tomorrow,” Hermione said. “I don’t think anyone expected how this year would go.”

“The Ravenclaw password is the answer to a riddle. I’ve never been great at riddles.”

“We’ll try to go in and out in pairs then,” Hermione offered.

The food appeared on the table in front of them, and for the first time that night, people finally sounded somewhat pleased. They all fixed their plates, and Hermione thought the chatter of the room seemed a bit more agreeable. No one was likely to be sorted into a house where they knew no one.

“There are only six of us,” Hermione said, glancing over Parvati, Justin, and the three former Slytherins. “I wonder how they’ll sort out the dorms.”

She didn’t imagine that there were two extra rooms in the tower. Maybe they would stay with the seventh years if those dorm rooms had the space.

Hermione formally introduced herself to Millicent, thinking back to the time she’d hoped to use her hair for the Polyjuice potion. It felt like a lifetime ago. They had been in the same year all this time, but never really interacted.

Draco picked at his dinner, and halfway through, stopped pretending. He propped his elbow on the table, the tip of a thumbnail between his teeth, gaze distant and unfocused. Theo noticed after a minute, and knocked Draco’s arm down.

It earned him a petty glare.

There were no head boys or prefects at this point, which left Professor Flitwick to escort them up to the tower. He explained along the way how the riddle-sealed entryway worked, along with a few facts about Ravenclaw house Hermione already knew from her reading.

It was strange, walking to Ravenclaw while they still all wore the robes from their previous house. They walked up, trimmed in red, yellow, and green, but tomorrow, the elves would have fixed their robes to blue.

The answer to the night’s riddle was _bezoar_ , and when Flitwick offered it, the doors opened to the common room.

Hermione craned upward to take in the constellations on the ceiling. They cast a silver light over the circular common room, matching the navy and royal blue décor. A statue of Rowena Ravenclaw stood by the fireplace, wearing a diadem that no longer existed. The room held a few chairs, but seemed to be set up more for studying.

“First and second years are on this floor,” Flitwick said, and began the process of getting everyone to their dorm, guiding them year by year. The crowd in the common room slowly thinned, until only the six eighth years remained.

“We added on a room for you all,” Flitwick told them. “We’re placing a great deal of confidence in you, seeing that you’re all of age.”

_One room?_

They couldn’t expect her to share a room with someone who spent six years making her life hell, taunting her about her blood status, and insulting her friends at every opportunity. She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t bear to now.

“You’re all on the top floor, the best view.”

It was truly the only compliment he could have given the room. It had been built under the slopes of the tower roof, and must have been enchanted in the same way the tent she lived in for the majority of last year had been. Even with it, the room allowed for two sets of bunk beds, two single beds, and a small, attached bathroom. There was the one window, which did have a stunning view of the lake and the mountains beyond it. With the low roof overhead, Hermione imagined rain would be incredibly calming.

“It’s a co-ed dorm?” Justin asked.

“As I said, we are trusting you all, given your age.”

Hermione’s trunk had been brought to the foot of the bunk bed on the right side of the room. She went to it, and Flitwick nodded once.

“Very good. My office is always open, should any trouble arise.”

He wasn’t too good not to glance at Malfoy and Nott when he spoke. Only Theo seemed offended by the insinuation.

Flitwick closed the door behind him, and the six of them gravitated toward their trunks. With how they had been arranged, Hermione and Parvati would share a bunk, with Millicent in the single bed, and across the room, Draco and Theo would share a bunk, while Justin took the single. The arrangement was logical, if not odd.

“It’s good only six of us ended up here,” Parvati said.

“There must be empty rooms they could have used,” Justin agreed.

But the Slytherins had nothing to say about their arrangements aside from a short discussion between Theo and Draco, resulting in Theo taking the top bunk.

Hermione let Parvati choose, and then made her bed on the bottom.

“I’m not spending anymore time in here than I have to,” Justin said. He dumped some of the contents of his trunk onto his bed, then headed downstairs. Parvati followed along.

“We have some time before curfew,” Theo said to Draco and Millicent. “Let’s see if we can find the others.”

Hermione took a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ from her bag, and settled in to read before bed. It was something of a tradition for her, and she could use some tradition right now.

“Are you coming?” Theo asked.

“I’ll meet you in the library,” Draco said.

Theo and Millicent walked out together, and Hermione tensed when it left her alone with Malfoy. She tried not to notice him as he made his bed, as he set out his robes, as he loosened his tie.

“Granger.”

She looked up, but he wasn’t looking back at her. He stared at the top bunk, and took a heavy breath.

It was the first time they had ever been alone together.

“I’ve come to realize I’ve been guided by beliefs I never stopped to question,” he said, quickly, like he’d practiced it, “—and I acted horribly because of it.”

His hand clenched and relaxed, then he faced her. “I apologize for how I treated you.”

He went quiet, but remained as tense as she was. Hermione stared, and a flush of anger ran through her. Did he think just because Harry spoke for him, all was forgiven? That one apology undid years of abuse?

“What do you expect me to say to that?”

“Nothing,” Draco said. “But it still needed to be said.”

He left her alone as a gust of wind battered the tower.


	2. Chapter 2

“I don’t buy it,” Ron said at breakfast. With the express permission to sit wherever they wanted, the four of them sat together at the Slytherin table. “I mean, the Wizengamot probably ordered him to make a bunch of apologies.”

“He did seem to be forcing himself into it,” Hermione said, thinking back. He had done her best not to stare, but it had been harder not to notice how stiff he had been leading up to the apology than anticipated.

Ginny took the small jam bowl to spread over her toast. “Seems silly, having you all share a room.”

“I could try talking to McGonagall,” Harry said. “It’s an oversight, putting you two in a dorm.”

“We’ve got Goyle in ours,” Ron said over a mouthful of egg. “How’s he a Hufflepuff?”

“Even misplaced loyalty is loyalty,” Hermione said.

“And we’re all blokes, except for Daphne. She got to stay with the seventh years. Maybe they’d let you do the same.”

“It’d hardly be fair to Parvati and Millicent if I moved out.”

She had never seen the Great Hall from this particular angle before. Now looking around while she sipped a cup of peppermint tea, she saw a mix of houses at every table. In the past, the wrongness of seeing all the former Slytherins at the Gryffindor table might have led her to believe she was dreaming. The start of the year felt like one.

“I really don’t like you being around him,” Ron said, and turned to glare.

Malfoy wasn’t even facing their direction. He had his back to their table, leaning to the side as he talked with Pansy. She gripped his sleeve, pulling him down to talk animatedly about something they couldn’t hear.

“I don’t get how that many of them ended up in Gryffindor.”

“You never questioned Cormac’s placement,” Ginny pointed out. “Even Percy was out of place there.”

“Are you defending them?” Ron asked heatedly.

“The point of all this is to see past the houses,” she said. “I don’t hear you complaining that me and Harry are in the wrong one.”

“That’s different.”

“I’m talking to McGonagall,” Ron decided. “Today. It’s bad enough he was allowed to come back.”

“Required to,” Harry said.

“No one is talking to McGonagall,” Hermione said. “She has enough going on, and I won’t be the cause of any more trouble for her.”

Besides, Malfoy was all talk, and now, on a thin leash with the Ministry. Any misspoken word and Harry could revoke his testimony, which in turn would end the parole.

Malfoy couldn’t do anything.

“Hermione—” Ron protested.

“I can handle myself. It isn’t like I’ll be spending much time in the dorm.”

With the amount of coursework needed to finish her NEWT-levels, her time would be spent in the library or with Ron and the others. Even back in Gryffindor, she only went up to the girl's dorm when she needed to sleep.

“Harry, are you going to stay in Potions?” she asked.

“I’ll have to for the Auror program. It would be much easier if the book hadn’t burned.”

But it had.

“I won’t be in your class,” Hermione said. “You’ll need to sit closer to the front so you can read the board better.”

“Why wouldn’t we be in the same class?” Ron asked.

“You and I will be, but Harry will be with the Gryffindors.”

The class pairings had been the same for six years, and this year's time tables confirmed them again. She thought for some of the smaller classes, they might combine all the eighth years together, but too many people had Potions as a requirement.

Hermione finished her breakfast and pushed her plate forward. “I’ve got Arithmancy. I’ll see you in Transfiguration.”

She kissed Ron’s cheek before standing. Ron touched her arm a moment, and she wished they had both gone to the same house like Harry and Ginny. The year might not loom in front of her if it felt like they could do it together.

 _We still can_ , she reminded herself.

She walked out of the Great Hall with her books in hand. She preferred to carry them outside of her bag ever since the one time in third year when her ink spilled, ruining her Defense homework.

Lupin had been forgiving.

She shook off the thought of him, which proved difficult in these halls. Hogwarts had been rebuilt over the summer, but a few things had changed. Broken statues replaced with different ones, shredded tapestries gone entirely, and stained-glass windows replaced with clear panes. She couldn’t forget what all was lost here.

By the time she reached the Arithmancy classroom, she didn’t feel in the headspace to learn. She took a seat in the front, trying to get herself collected by organizing the desk in front of her: book, parchment, quill, inkwell open. She shifted each item until they were arranged perfectly.

Professor Vector was next in, and she gave Hermione a warm greeting. As the others entered, she directed them to the two tables at the front of the room.

“We only have five in our class, so there’s no need to spread out.”

Susan and Padma joined Hermione, and Draco and Theo took the other table.

“When Parvati told me the stairs to the girl’s dorm could turn into a slide, I half-thought she was kidding.”

“Make good use of it last night?” Hermione asked.

“For an hour, at least.”

“I’m convinced the Slytherin dorm is triggering my motion sickness,” Susan said. “Who thought it was smart to put us under the lake?”

From her view of Malfoy's profile, Hermione caught his smirk.

Class began, and Professor Vector started with a review. With how the last year had gone, she thought they could all use a brush up. They were given an assignment to write a short essay on predictive models, numerology, and value variances. If their knowledge on the different branches of study hadn't regressed, they would move back into practical application.

Thinking about the upcoming work brought back her excitement for the year. This was the first and only normal school year she would have. There was no dark lord to defeat, no mystery to uncover, no one trying to kill Harry. She had wanted this sort of year from Hogwarts from the moment she learned she was a witch.

Devoting herself to the work was the surest way to keep her mind at ease, and she took notes on the review, despite remembering everything covered.

After class, as they were putting away their quills and ink, Padma said, “I really didn’t expect to come back.”

“Neither did I,” Susan said. “I can’t shake the feeling something is wrong.”

“It’ll pass,” Hermione said. “It’s still so fresh.”

But it was little consolation. None of them should have had to have gone through what they did, and then to come back to where it all happened…

“We’ll get through it,” she assured them.

The rest of the day helped her to adjust. McGonagall still taught Transfiguration, and she got to sit with Ron during it. Enough students took the class that they needed to divide into two. She missed having Harry at their table, but Ron's closeness lightened her spirits. They spent the period turning a cup into a working hourglass, joking together as if the last year never happened.

They met up with Harry and Ginny at lunch, where Ginny brought up Quidditch.

“They’ve nearly finished repairing the pitch. Slughorn will name a captain soon.”

“Do you think you’ll play?” Hermione asked.

“I’ve been thinking I want to professionally. So, yes.”

“You’d play for Slytherin?”

“Come off it, Ron,” she said. “There isn’t a person in Slytherin now who you have a problem with.”

“Would you play?” Hermione asked Harry.

“I don’t think so. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea of a year without competition.”

Hermione understood it. After spending so long fighting, Harry deserved the break. There was also the issue of whether it was fair to let someone of age compete against second years. Though, Harry was one of the youngest in Eighth Year. Hermione would be turning nineteen this month, but Harry only turned eighteen in July. That hardly counted as an advantage.

“Does that mean you’re going to study with me?” Hermione teased.

“Well,” Harry said awkwardly, “I was thinking Ginny and me could…study.”

Hermione and Ginny laughed, but Ron spluttered over his drink. At some point, Ron needed to accept that his little sister wasn’t so little anymore. They were essentially all adults at this point.

“Just work in some actual studying,” she said.

The lighthearted mood carried over into their afternoon classes, and Hermione walked with Ron to the dungeons, hand-in-hand, for Potions.

The mood shattered when Slughorn greeted them.

“Ms. Granger, Mr. Weebly, take a seat.”

The classroom was set up for three tables of three, and two seats were open across the room from each other. Michael and Dean had an open chair at their table, along with Draco and Theo.

Hermione knew hesitation would add to the tension, and chose to sit with the members of her own house. Forcing Ron on them would surely end up causing a fight.

“It’s good to see you all back this year,” Slughorn said. “Since most of you need this class for your career, I thought we’d spend some time on more practical applications. On the board, just back here, you’ll see a list of potential options for new potions that our world severely needs. Your group will attempt to create a new potion recipe. Doesn’t have to be something I’ve written down, mind you. These are simply a starting point.”

Hermione did her best to hide her relief. Malfoy and Nott might have difficult personalities, but they were capable in Potions. Ron’s group had to pull his weight.

Theo raised his hand. “Is this what we’ll be tasked with all term, professor?”

“On Mondays and Thursdays,” Slughorn said, giving him a pleased smile. “Tuesday and Wednesdays we’ll stick to the textbook.”

“Do we get to pick our groups?” Ron asked.

“Next term,” Slughorn said. “For now, you’ll work with those at your table. Now, get started. I daresay you’ll need all the time you can get.”

Hermione read over the choices on the board: something to open the inner eye, another to allow the drinker to see in the dark, a topical cure for a billywig sting, and several others that were impractical to test.

“I’m not interested in levitating for days while looking for a cure,” Draco said. He stared at the board, mulling over the options.

“There’s no way to prove much with an _inner eye_ either,” Hermione said.

“We could brew liquid luck and use it to cheat an Arithmancy test,” Theo said.

Hermione caught herself smiling at the suggestion, and cleared her throat. She didn’t condone cheating, even for something as impractical as predicting the future.

“If we don’t like any of these, other suggestions?” Draco asked. He reclined in his chair, propping his arms on the back of it. It opened up Hermione’s view of Ron, who stared her way with a pinched expression.

“Liquid luck isn’t a bad starting idea,” Theo said. “If we can bottle chance, what else might we bottle?”

“Courage?” Hermione suggested.

“Easier to take a shot of firewhiskey,” Draco said.

“Charisma?” Theo offered.

“We’d have a hard time proving it worked.”

“Well, why don’t you suggest something?” Hermione said. “It’s easy to shoot down every option.”

Draco returned to sitting normally. “It can’t be a cure without getting sick. And it has to be something we can’t fake.”

Fred and George had been able to invent several potions. Hermione considered writing to George for advice, but didn’t want to trigger any unwanted emotions. The three of them could figure out something on their own.

“We could bottle empathy,” Hermione said at length. “To feel what the giver feels.”

Draco tapped his quill against the corner of his mouth, then wrote it down. “Similar to a love potion.”

“And we’d have the research material readily available,” Theo said.

“We only need to determine how to tie into the giver’s mental state,” Draco finished, but he hadn’t stopped writing. “If Amortentia can recognize who gave the potion to who, we only need to reverse it.”

They came out with ideas in a rush, to the point Hermione had trouble keeping up. She initially feared their grades were tied to Snape’s preference to his own house, but that fear was unfounded. Draco and Theo both clearly knew potion theory, not just how to follow directions, and their ideas resulted in a solid path forward.

Slughorn came by after half an hour to check in, and went straight to Hermione to read over her notes.

“Very ambitious to do in a term,” he said.

“We’re confident we can manage,” Hermione told him.

“You’ll need to put in a lot of time outside the classroom. But if you need help sourcing any ingredients, you need only ask,” he told her, and went on to the next table without having looked at either of her partners.

“Did he start back his club?” Theo asked.

“I haven’t heard of it yet. Although, it would seem to go against the general call for unity this year.”

“We all know why they mixed the houses, and it has nothing to do with who’s the teacher’s pet.”

“You’re just peeved you weren’t included,” Theo said.

“I am not,” Draco said, as if the entire idea was beneath him.

“See? You’re still pissy.”

They argued quietly while they planned, and Hermione soon got tired of having to cut them off mid-sentence to be included in their actual assignment. It would stop the bickering for a few minutes every time she spoke up, but soon, the back and forth resumed.

“There’s no reason to think about naming it now,” Draco pointed out when Theo brought up the subject. He kept jotting down notes for potential ingredient combinations, covering his parchment in small, precise handwriting. Having grown up using a quill must have helped. Hermione missed pens and pencils.

“I'm just saying we should consider it.”

“Call it Empathy Potion.”

“That doesn’t have the same impact as Felix Felicis or Amortentia.”

“Should've taken my advice and learned Latin.”

“Your name will be on this too, Malfoy. No need to be a prig.”

“Honestly,” Hermione cut in. She allowed their argument to go on for too long, and at this rate, she’d be better off in the group with Ron, doing all the work herself. “I thought you two were friends. I’m not putting up with this all term.”

They both looked at her, and after a second, Draco lifted an eyebrow. “I was intentionally being an ass, Granger. It isn’t an insult if it’s true.”

He spoke slowly, as if certain she wasn’t going to understand him, and for a moment, she didn’t. They interacted with each other like this regularly? And Draco Malfoy of all people didn’t mind having a friend make jokes at his expense?

“I never thought you’d have a self-deprecating sense of humor,” she said.

“I doubt you ever gave me much thought,” he said, and she caught a bit of amusement behind his words. “But we can focus.”

“Thank you.”

He agreed to work, but it hadn’t felt like she won that exchange.

She handled theorizing with them much better than listening to their odd manner of joking. And true to their word, the jabs at each other stopped. By the end of the period, she felt they had a solid plan for starting their potion, even if it did mean a few hours a week in the library.

Ron gave them a dirty look when class ended and she went to the other table. Michael and Dean nearly finished putting away their things.

“What did you three decide on?” she asked.

“The billywig one,” Ron said. “Dean thinks he can convince Seamus to take the sting.”

“He’d think floating around for a couple days would be _wicked_ fun,” Dean said, taking a shot at the accent.

“And you’re all liking the new dorms?”

“Being right by the kitchens is great,” Michael said. “They don’t stop you from going in, at any time of day.”

Dean nodded. “The whole place is like some winter retreat you’d see in a muggle magazine. Everything is designed for the aim of warmth and comfort, and somehow always smells vaguely of fresh bread.”

“And here I’m convinced all the Ravenclaws ever do is study,” Hermione joked.

“It’ll be interesting to see how much that changes now that we’re reassigned,” Michael said, “If the expectation of the house prompted us all to study more than we would’ve otherwise. I don’t exactly miss having to answer a riddle three times a day.”

Ron shoved an empty parchment into his bag. “I wouldn’t have come back this year if I’d known we’d all be split up.”

“It isn’t so bad," she said. "Look at how much we’ve seen each other today.”

And now they had nothing left to do before dinner. The two of them could go sit outside and take advantage of the afternoon, to try to enjoy being at Hogwarts in the way they had years ago.

She took his hand and led him out. They reached the top of the dungeon staircase in time to see Zacharias Smith shove Malfoy into a wall. The knock back looked painful, but it was anger that flashed across Draco’s expression. It burned in his eyes, and he tightened his jaw, grabbing for his wand.

But he caught himself before raising it and rolled his eyes upward, steadying his hand. His chest rose and fell heavily.

“Draco?” Theo said quietly, putting a hand on his elbow.

“He isn’t worth Azkaban,” Draco said, voice strained as if he was clenching his teeth.

“Are you—”

Draco held up a hand, knocking Theo’s off him. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t know what he expected, coming back,” Ron said as Draco stormed off. “Not like anyone’s forgotten what he did.”

“I don’t get the feeling he’d be here if he had a choice.”

“Seems like the Wizengamot knew what he’d go through here,” Michael said from just behind them.

Harry’s testimony couldn’t be countered, but sending him back to Hogwarts, where everyone knew what he and his family had done? His parole was a sentence of its own.

“Let’s not worry over him,” Hermione said. “I’d like to go sit outside a while.”

They could all use some fresh air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the support on the first chapter. This is my first story for the Harry Potter fandom, so the kudos/comments mean a lot.


	3. Chapter 3

The first week of classes passed without further incident, and Hermione found for the first time in her years at Hogwarts that her only concerns were her studies and having to share a bathroom with five other people. After two chaotic mornings, Hermione put her foot down and tacked a shower list to the wall. A schedule with two in the morning, two after classes, and two in the even made things run much more smoothly. No one posed any arguments to the idea of the list, only to what time slot they could get their name on.

The co-ed dorm lacked privacy, but no problems arose because of it. They all drew the curtain around their bed while they slept, and sleeping was the only time half of them came upstairs.

Hermione spent most of her free time in the library, except for the times Harry and Ron pulled her away. They both had jobs lined up and hadn’t needed to return this year, so they didn’t take the workload as seriously as she might have liked. The people who did take it seriously bickered with each other through their work sessions, but to a lesser extent than she expected. Draco and Theo calmed down the arguing so it didn’t get in the way of their work, and she accepted the occasional spat as the cost of having two partners who didn’t need to be guided through the material.

She might have enjoyed a capable set of partners if it didn’t mean working with Draco Malfoy. Despite the insults he and Theo exchanged daily, none had been directed toward her, but each one served as a reminder of the ones he’d leveled at her in the past.

She thought of the insults and traced the word carved into her arm. One word didn’t define her, no matter what they thought.

But she didn’t let her thoughts linger long on Malfoy. He was a blimp on the year easily ignored, and him aside, Eighth Year was her ideal. She focused on the assignments, sat with all her friends at meals, and went through every day without feeling like she needed to look over her shoulder.

On a Saturday mid-September, she spent the day down by the lake with the old DA. Luna filled her in on the Fat Lady’s backstory, which she had never thought to ask about, and then listened as Neville discussed working more closely with Professor Sprout, who confessed she hoped to retire soon. Their lives, their problems, and their dreams were all their own this year, without outside influence.

They carried on the conversation while she and Ron skipped rocks. The ripples scattered the reflection of the puffy clouds overhead, Ron’s far more successful than her own. She gave Ron’s tutelage a serious effort and stood on the bank of the water, pants rolled up, while she practiced. But after fifteen minutes of failing to get one to skip more than twice, she took a handful of rocks to her blanket, where she settled in to try enchanting one.

“It’s nice not being the only person from a different house,” Luna said. She lay stretched out on the grass, hair splayed around her, while Ginny worked wildflowers in a halo in her hair.

“We have all the houses represented now,” Hermione said. “It’s amazing how well-rounded we were before.”

“Perhaps that’s why he wanted to divide us,” Luna said.

“Could be,” Harry added, “But they never managed it.”

“I can almost forget any of it happened here, out by the lake.”

The lake had several negative memories tied to it. Most notable was Dumbledore’s funeral. The chairs had been set up in rows where they had laid out their blankets now. Enough people had come that the rows stretched out a ways. Across the then mist-covered lake, the centaurs had stood in their own line.

“Reminds me more of the Triwizard Tournament,” Neville said, interrupting her recollection before it delved deeper into the memories of that day. “I don’t know why they brought us all down to stare at an empty lake for an hour.”

“Better that than to be stuck underneath for an hour, mate,” Ron said. “There’s a whole city under there.”

Hermione worked on enchanting the rock, letting Ron relive the story again. She knew very well he didn’t remember anything that happened while underwater. Her own memory gaped from the moment they were put under to the moment Krum brought her above.

“We’re breaking tradition without a mystery to solve this year,” Harry said once Ron finished. He idly picked blades of grass, twisting them around a finger before he pulled them.

“McGonagall probably expects the mystery to be our career planning,” Hermione said.

“Don’t we all know what we want to do?” Ginny asked. “It’s half the point of our OWLs.”

“You don’t have a career planned after Quidditch?” Hermione asked, then stood to try throwing the stone again. She shielded her eyes from the sun with a hand, and watched it skip three times before sinking, but that could have been attributed to her own improvement.

Turning, she caught the end of Ginny’s shrug. “I’ll work it out when the time comes.”

“Talking about our future is a nice change,” Neville said.

Hermione agreed. The hours spent together by the lake were some of the nicest in the last two years. No threats loomed, not even the prospect of one. Maybe Harry longed for mystery, but Hermione was content the way things were.

She rested her head on Ron’s shoulder, looped her arms around one of his, and hoped nothing changed.

As the sun dipped below the mountains, they walked together back up to the castle. Luna hummed, providing them a melody for their short trip up the winding path around Hagrid’s hut. It was a peaceful end to the day, and over dinner, they all agreed to make it a habit every weekend.

After eating, they split to go to their respective common rooms. Ron tried to convince Hermione to sit with him a while since they had an hour before curfew, but Hermione wanted to work on her Transfiguration homework. None of the teachers were going easy on them this year.

She answered the door’s riddle—Hippogriff—to get inside the common room. More light than usual shone down from the ceiling to give the high number of students enough to study by. Most of the work stations set up had been claimed, and Hermione walked to the staircase, planning to shower first. If none of them were open when she came down, she’d draw her curtain to study in bed.

Whispers met her when she opened the door. She hadn’t expected anyone to have come straight from dinner, and glanced to her left where Theo and Draco were sitting on the bottom bunk. Her name made its way into the whispers, and with a quick flick of his wrist, Draco cast a silent spell at his own face.

Hermione _knew_ she had heard the word hospital.

Draco’s curtain was partially pulled around his bed, obscuring her view. They stopped talking. She considered ignoring them, letting them hide whatever they were failing to, but as she pulled her shower supplies from her trunk, she gave in to the curiosity.

“Are you hurt?” Hermione asked. “Madam Pomfrey doesn’t ask many questions.”

“It’s nothing,” Draco said, but Hermione could hear it.

“It sounds like your nose is broken.”

Theo tilted his head, posing a question without having to speak. A moment passed between them where it seemed as if they both wanted to convince the other of something, and Hermione grew impatient.

“I’m a fair hand at mending spells. If you don’t plan to go to the hospital wing, I can try healing it for you.”

“Do you plan to be a healer?” Theo asked. He sounded skeptical, like he thought she planned to do more harm to Draco's face.

“I spent last year on the run and fighting for my life. I picked up a few charms.”

Harry had admitted to her that he thought of learning them too late. It had been right before he planned to run that he realized knowing a few simple healing charms would be to their benefit. Anticipating that, she prepared.

“I still think he should—”

“It’s fine,” Draco said. “Granger’s sufficient.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me,” Hermione said. The floorboards creaked as she walked across to the boy’s half of the room, and Draco pushed aside the curtain.

“Don’t make me take it back.”

His face bore no sign of injury. If she hadn’t heard the change in his voice, she never would have realized anything was wrong. He had applied the glamour wordlessly, which meant he must have been proficient. That sort of proficiency was uncommon.

“You’ll need to let me see what I’m fixing.”

Theo and Draco exchanged another look. She spotted familiar annoyance in Malfoy’s eyes, but couldn’t pinpoint its direction. She gave it a moment before lifting an eyebrow. She had better things to do than wait for him to accept help he didn’t deserve.

Removing the glamour revealed what she expected. Light purple bruising spread out under both his eyes, and his nose most certainly was broken, off on a slight angle. But under that, what she suspected caused his actual hesitation, was a faint web of scarring, covering most of the left side of his face and neck.

He refused to make eye contact, staring pointedly at the bathroom door.

“It’ll sting a little,” she warned him, and raised her wand. “Episkey.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, wincing. His nose set quickly, but the pain would linger a bit longer. He had never handled pain well. Recovering took him a full minute to move.

“Better?” she asked.

“Yes.”

The scars had stayed, and he reapplied the glamour.

“Why don’t you have them healed?” she asked, not expecting an answer.

“Curse scars don’t heal,” he said, and reached for a book, ending the conversation.

Hermione didn’t press, but took her things to go shower.

* * *

The Gryffindor Quidditch trials were held on a rainy Thursday afternoon, and Hermione knew where she’d find Harry after Ginny had been unable to track him down. Hermione walked up to a third-floor corridor, where an arched window overlooked the pitch. Harry used the ledge as a makeshift seat, looking out.

“You could still play this year,” she said.

“For Slytherin,” he said, and shifted to give her space to sit. She set aside her bag and stared out too, as distant figures flew around the goal hoops.

“Slytherin isn’t even the same people anymore,” she reminded him. “I’ve got a third of them in my dorm.”

“You don’t talk much about that.”

“There isn’t much to say. I mostly only see them half an hour a day.”

She hadn’t told anyone about Malfoy’s broken nose. His refusal to get treatment said more than he did, and the fight he’d gotten into wasn’t her business. The fact he performed a wordless glamour perfectly and held it well enough no one noticed gave her much more to ponder.

“Isn’t it strange that being sorted into Slytherin means not having to deal with any of them?”

“I think Ron’s about ready to hex Goyle,” Hermione said. “He’s now incredibly defensive of Hufflepuff’s values.”

Harry smiled a bit. “He’d be equally upset if all the Slytherins went to Gryffindor.”

“Imagine trying to have that debate. Or any about them, really.”

She loved Ron, but convincing him he was wrong about anything took effort she rarely had the time for. Maybe loyalty and pigheadedness went hand in hand.

“I already had an offer to start on with the Aurors,” Harry said. He clenched a fist in his lap. “Why did I come back here?”

Hermione let a group of students pass before she answered, thinking better of having Harry’s personal issues aired to the school.

“You died in May,” she said, putting her hand over his. “It’s understandable that you don’t want to immediately go running after dark wizards.”

“They’re still out there. I should be doing something. Instead, I’m sitting here pitying myself for not being able to play a sport.”

“Does the idea of a quiet year really bother you?”

“I’ve never had one.”

She squeezed his hand. “This is the only one you’ll ever have. I don’t think Moody got many breaks.”

Harry returned to watching the trials, but didn’t pull back his hand. They hadn’t gotten much time alone since those weeks in the tent, solving a mystery Dumbledore could have easily explained to Harry. She told herself it had been necessary, that if they had known, things might have worked out differently. If they knew where to look, then they might have rushed ahead recklessly. Knowing might have brought them failure.

“This all feels petty,” Harry said. “Like choosing to be here is selfish.”

“Even if it was selfish, you’ve earned it. Just because this is unfamiliar doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

The angle of the rain shifted, and as the intensity picked up, it battered against the window. The rain streaked the glass, blocking their view. Harry sighed.

“I know the exact spot where he died.”

“It’s impossible not to imagine it all,” she agreed. “Short of building a new castle, I don’t know what they could do about it.”

“Everyone seems ready to move on,” Harry said. “Just like that.”

“There’s only so long we can live in fear.”

“I guess.”

They sat in silence for a while, save for the steps of the few people who passed through the adjoining halls and the softening rain against the window. It sounded far too familiar to the sound of rain on canvas.

“You let me talk about myself too much,” Harry said, and faced her again. “You wanted to come back. How’s it been?”

“Busy, but I’m adjusting. I like the coursework.”

“Ron said you’re partnered with Malfoy.”

“And Theodore Nott,” she said. “That was Slughorn’s doing. I’m sure he doesn’t know.”

“You could get reassigned.”

They already started, and the other groups wouldn’t put in the effort she wanted to. She hadn’t seen either group in the library or down in the Potions classroom during the free period Slughorn let them work up practice brews.

“Neither of them have done anything to me this year. It’s odd,” she said slowly. “They bicker with each other constantly, but apparently that’s how they talk. It’s never directed at me, though.”

“You and Ron have always bickered.”

“This is different,” she said. “They both accept any insult as long as it’s true, but don’t you think that would make it worse?”

“Maybe they don’t actually like each other. When we were all brought to Slytherin, Slughorn told us we were never to be caught in a fight with anyone from our house. Something about maintaining appearances.”

“Maybe, but, I don’t think so.”

She thought back to how they had been sitting the night she saw the scars. They had been close, angled in to each other, wands resting on the bed between them, while Theo tried to convince Draco to go see Pomfrey.

He’d been concerned when Zacharias pushed him too.

“Malfoy was hurt the other day,” Hermione whispered. “He used a glamour to hide it because he didn’t want to be sent to the hospital wing.”

“Fighting could break his parole,” Harry pointed out.

“He let me heal him.”

“You offered?”

“Is that such a surprise?” she asked. “I was more surprised he agreed. Would fifth year Malfoy let an untrained mudblood mess with his face?”

“You shouldn’t call yourself that.”

“I’m not ashamed of my blood. And that isn’t the point. Being afraid of Azkaban doesn’t mean he has to accept my help.”

Lowering the glamours had done more than accept her help.

“He…he’s got extensive scarring on his face.”

Harry’s attention narrowed to her. “What?”

“I think it’s why his glamour work is so precise. He’s been hiding scars.”

“Tell me they’re acne scars,” Harry said, voice straining.

“He said they were curse scars.”

Harry closed his eyes, then put his head in his hands. When Hermione had seen the scars, she told herself they were a consequence of living in a house with Death Eaters. Lucius failed often enough that Draco could have taken the punishment.

“Snape had mentioned dittany might prevent them,” he said into his hands. “He created the curse. I assumed the counter-curse stopped them.”

“They aren’t terrible,” she said, knowing it was little comfort. “It’s just that he’s pale, so they stand out.”

Harry breathed heavily for a few seconds, ran his fingers through his hair, and sat upright. He faced the window again, but they couldn’t see the pitch anymore.

“If Snape hadn’t been close enough to hear Myrtle screaming, Malfoy would have died. I would have killed him.”

“You didn’t. We can’t worry about what might have happened.”

“If you almost killed someone, you might not say that so easily.”

She didn’t know how she’d feel in Harry’s position. Malfoy had done terrible things, but to think he deserved to die for them? They had laws for a reason, and as an individual, no one should be able to say who lived and who died.

“Have you talked to him since?”

“Not really. The most we’ve spoken was before the fiendfyre. I didn’t even talk to him at his trial.”

“You saved his life more than once,” Hermione said. “He probably thinks you’re even.”

“It’s Malfoy.”

Hermione shrugged. “He started off the year by apologizing to me. He might be up for a discussion.”

She stood, smoothing out her robes. “I think Ginny’s looking for you.”

Harry didn’t rush to stand. He took a few seconds to himself while Hermione put her bag over a shoulder, then stood beside her. “You know, if I hadn’t come back, I wouldn’t get much time with Ginny.”

“You wouldn’t get _any_ time with Ginny,” she agreed. “You were excited about a year with no conflict, remember? No conflict and plenty of time with Ginny.”

“Maybe a little conflict isn’t so bad.”

She laughed and took his arm. “Only you, Harry Potter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we jump over to Draco's POV!


	4. Chapter 4

"How well do you know the restricted section?" Theo asked, holding the pass Slughorn had written him. They made their way up from the dungeons towards the library for one of the many study sessions Granger arranged. But she was the one who would be late, having to shake off Weasley's attention first. With how clingy Ron was, Draco began to think he and Pansy would make a good match.

But he wouldn't wish that on Pansy.

"Trying to pawn off pulling books?"

"Might be."

He had an itch on his neck that had persisted for a week now. Draco scratched at it, wondering if it was some new sort of jinx he didn't know about. He'd scratched his skin raw.

"We should have picked a simpler potion."

"Where's the challenge there?" Theo asked. "Not all of us have a dozen properties to lean on when we leave."

The Nott name appeared in a few papers, but buried in a long list of names. It softened the blow and gave Theo a chance at finding work. Any interviewer would pick up on how far Theo had been removed from his father's actions.

Theo hadn't been branded.

"You have my full efforts," Draco assured him.

Draco clutched his wand to the underside of his Potions book, gaze shifting to either side of the hallway, scanning the faces of the students for any indication of a threat. Last week, he'd been careless, leaving it in its usual place under his robes, and someone struck him off guard, catching him in the back with a tripping jinx. If he'd had his wand, he could have cushioned the fall. He determined not to allow anyone else to catch him off guard.

"Did you decide about Hogsmeade next weekend?"

"I'm not going."

"Pansy will wear you down. You can't expect to best her in a fight."

Searching out a way around Pansy's pestering would take new methods. She knew the terms of his parole as well as he did, and that ruled out lying about Hogsmeade being off limits. Saying he wanted to look after her reputation didn't mean much when she hardly cared about it herself.

"She has an entire new group of people to win over," Draco said. "She'll want to use the first trip to spoil them."

That gave him a half decent out. And before, if he tried to play sick, Pansy could storm into his dorm room and drag him out of bed. The eagle's riddles had gotten progressively harder, leaving Pansy no chance to sneak in.

"Never took you as an optimist," Theo said.

"I'd call it practical idealism."

"That's pessimism."

"Proving my point," Draco said, and scratched the spot on his neck.

Students had already crowded into the library by the time they arrived, and they wound through the aisles in search of a table. Theo took the lead since he drew less attention. No one dared start a fight under Madam Pince's watch, but if he made it through today without incident, it would be a personal best since the beginning of term. Three days.

He longed for the days of being able to lord over the school, with nearly no one able to retaliate with Crabbe and Goyle beside him. No matter what changes he made, there would be no way to reclaim that high. He knew better than to linger on thoughts of better times when the Wizengamot waited eagerly for a misstep. They counted on his pride being his undoing, and sent him to a school where violence was rarely punished.

The Wizengamot's plan to condemn him nearly succeeded a dozen times over in the first week alone.

"Might as well get started," Draco said when they found a table. "There's no telling how long Weasley will keep Granger."

The table sat four, and Theo took the chair to Draco's right. Theo gave Hermione a barrier both in their study sessions and their classes, because not forcing her to sit near Draco worked out for the best. She never commented on it, but he resistance wasn't difficult to pick out.

_What do you expect me to say to that?_

He spent two weeks over the summer practicing that apology, rehearsing it in the mirror until he decided against eye contact. He changed the wording a dozen times over, wanting to make it clear he understood the gravity of what he had done, but not wanting to sound more pathetic than his circumstances already made him. With all the time spent planning what he might say, he never considered her response. Her response hadn't been the point, since she didn't owe him one.

"It could take a month to brew for all we know," Theo said, spreading out his notes.

"We'll have to start the initial batch soon, even without having insight into the potential interactions."

A crumbled paper landed on their table, and when Draco glanced to either side to see where it had come from, every head was conveniently downturned.

"Don't bother," Theo said. "It'll just piss you off."

It would, but he opened it regardless. In scrawled writing flickered, _You_ _'ll burn, Death Eater._ Draco was familiar with these sort of notes, having sent many of them himself, just with taunts rather than death wishes. No student here had the ability to follow through on the wish. The note didn't mean anything, he told himself.

_You wished death on people here before._

The primary one would be joining them soon.

He incinerated the note to vent his frustration, and once it burned, wiped the ash off the table with the side of his hand. Despite the contents of the note, he had no way to respond. They all knew it.

Draco worked his jaw in attempt to force himself to keep his mouth shut. Throwing hexes might have felt worthwhile in the moment, but he'd resent it during his decade in Azkaban. Without anyone to speak on his behalf, responding wasn't worth the satisfaction.

"I told you not to open it," Theo said.

"Piss off."

"Are you two really already arguing?" Hermione asked, coming around the table to take the seat across from Draco. Her cheeks were flushed, and he thought best to ignore it.

"We were just saying we should plan to brew an initial batch first, to see how long it will take," Theo said.

"To account for the modified ingredients?"

"Exactly. I'm headed to get _Moste Potente Potions_ for reference."

Hermione started to say something, but cut herself off when Theo stood. Draco imagined she meant to offer to get it, anything to avoid sitting at the table alone with him. If not for the fact someone in the library currently wanted him dead, Draco would have been the one to walk away. He could spend the entire period searching for supplemental material.

At least Granger made a better shield than Theo.

"Is that all you both had started on?" Hermione asked, entirely too fixated on the notes she neatly laid in front of her. Her effort to pretend she was unbothered by his presence would have worked much better if she put in any real effort. Avoiding eye contact was a Pansy play.

"It was."

"You shouldn't be working without me."

"If you'd—" he started, but realized who he was talking to. Hermione would assume any snide remark an insult, then go running to Potter to insist he hadn't changed. He corrected himself to a more appropriate, "We'll wait in the future."

Her lot likely assumed repentance required niceness. One insult and he'd be rebranded a Death Eater.

"If I'd _what?_ " she said, finally meeting his gaze. "Go on and finish your thought."

Always looking for a reason to condemn a person, the supposed heroes.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to look over your notes from the last study group," he said, not looking away. It didn't matter what she thought he meant to say. Let her prove it.

"I'm sure your own notes are sufficient."

"I'll get by."

Draco gave her the victory by looking away first, but caught himself grinding his teeth. He needed to find better methods of releasing his stress.

If given the choice, he would have escaped to France with his mother. They all acted like he wanted to be here and was forcing himself on them. Behaving this year didn't affect his parole. They were just as likely to convict him after graduation, and he assumed that was why they sent him here. When the war was no longer as fresh on people's mind, Harry's testimony would matter less. He wouldn't come to Draco's defense again.

"I didn't appreciate your tone," Hermione said curtly.

"It's how I've always spoken."

"It wasn't appreciated in the past either."

He already apologized once; she wouldn't get another from him. Apologizing repeatedly for no reason did nothing but wear him down. No one here cared for an actual apology, no matter how genuine he made it.

It wasn't entirely fair to think that. Theo, Blaise, and Pansy understood. Goyle knew the truth, but it had been Draco's idea to follow Potter to the Room of Hidden Things. Despite the fact Crabbe escalated the conflict, Draco led to his death.

Another apology wouldn't give Goyle time.

"Would it make you less irritable if you yelled at me?" Draco asked. "We could step into the hall."

The gaping expression had the same affect on his mood as if he'd levied an insult. If he couldn't insult them, he could make them wildly uncomfortable.

"You really are a spoiled prat," Hermione said. "Too proud to be told when you're doing something wrong."

 _Was that what she was doing?_ he wondered. Telling him he was doing something wrong? Draco almost conceded to her point with a slight _hm_ , and opened his inkwell.

They worked individually, quietly, for a couple minutes. As much as Draco would have enjoyed making a few more digs, they really did need to make significant progress today. Plus, anyone in Potter's immediate circle needed to be off limits.

Unfortunately.

"I shouldn't have said that."

"It's not an insult if it's true."

She rolled her eyes, huffing. "That logic doesn't make sense. It just opens you up to the most personal insults about yourself."

"I'm not ashamed of who I am."

Her expression went deadpan, and she stared. "How?"

To match her actually insult response, he chose to give her an actual answer. "When you've done what I have, you either learn to live with it or don't live."

Once his meaning sunk in, she dropped her gaze back to her work. She picked up her quill, although he couldn't imagine what she had to write down, and that was how Theo found her when he returned with the book.

"I saw one on rare ingredients and brought it," he said, retaking his seat.

"I can start with that one," Draco said, taking it from him. "We'll need a list for Slughorn to send off for."

Hermione and Theo tried writing out a new formulation based off the Amortentia recipe. They worked off the same page, without debate or argument. Draco only spoke up to suggest other ingredients they might use, which Theo added to their growing list.

After an hour, they called it for the day. They had their plan for where to start, and in class tomorrow, would drop off the list of ingredients for Slughorn to order for them. They could probably spend more time looking up interactions between various ingredients, but there were other classes to study for, and Draco could only tolerate being surrounded so long before needing some air. Dinner started in an hour, and the thought of having to sit in the Great Hall for any duration nearly made him think Hufflepuff wouldn't have been a terrible sorting. At least then he could have eaten alone in the kitchen.

He considered hiding out in the dorm for the rest of the night. But the moment anyone came in, he would resent the lack of privacy the narrow bed and thin curtain gave him. Any other year he would have complained.

But this wasn't any other year, and Draco had to stop wishing for change because wishing never got him anywhere. It hadn't gotten him out of the house where Voldemort tortured and killed. It hadn't gotten him out of taking the mark. It hadn't gotten him out of a year pushing himself to a mental breakdown trying to serve a man who didn't care if he lived or died.

He let Theo lead the way out of the library, but at the suggestion of going to find Blaise and Pansy, knew he wasn't up for it. Although going off on his own was a sure way to end the streak of incident-free days, Draco parted way from Theo.

The path to the Astronomy tower felt too familiar. He hadn't followed it often, but the tower was the last place he felt he had a choice. If he made that choice faster, his life could have turned out very differently.

At five on a Tuesday, the tower would be empty. He climbed the stairs slowly, the same way he had on that night in June. His footsteps echoed down the spiraling staircase, each one heavy and condemning. The door at the top was unlocked, the same way it had been that night.

Draco had expected to be alone. He took off his bag to leave by the top of the stairs, but froze before putting it down. Harry stood across the tower, facing away from him. For a few seconds, Draco considered leaving.

Harry glanced over his shoulder.

"I figured you'd turn up here eventually," he said. Too many details startled Draco—Harry's presence, the fact he seemed to be waiting, and the Slytherin robes. Draco took a second to find an appropriate response.

"You were waiting for me?"

Draco assumed they had an understanding that they were better off maintaining distance between them. Nothing good came from them interacting, and if Draco wanted to keep up his model student act, he couldn't pick a fight.

"I was here that night too."

"You mentioned."

At the trial, Harry stood before the Wizengamot and said he knew Draco wouldn't have followed through. He said he knew Draco recognized him and gave them the opportunity to escape from the Manor. He said he knew Draco had originally wanted the mission, and ended up having a change of heart.

Harry said he knew a lot of things about Draco. No one else would have put so much weight in lowering a wand.

"He was already dying," Harry said. "Do you remember how black his hand was?"

Draco approached slowly to match Harry's stance, elbows on the railing, staring out towards the lake. He folded his hands together to keep from fidgeting.

"What was wrong with it?"

"A curse. Snape confined it as long as he could, but he didn't have much longer. They planned his death."

Harry said it so simply, like it was common knowledge.

"Snape told him what I'd been tasked to do?" Draco asked, choosing his words with precision, not wanting to dredge up anything more from the past two years than he had to.

"Dumbledore didn't want you to do it."

Draco hadn't much wanted to either.

"I doubt you were waiting up here for recollection," Draco said.

Harry inclined his head in slightly, not looking at him. His gaze seemed fixated on the dark forest splayed out to their right, where a few owls were out hunting. Draco gave them a glance, but not for long.

Harry faced him in a swift motion and raised his wand. Draco couldn't react in time to deflect, but closed his eyes when he heard, "Finite Incantatem."

The glamour fell.

Of _course_ that was why Potter had come.

"I take it you talked to Granger," Draco said. He opened his eyes to see Harry taking in the scarring that always looked worse in natural light. Draco gave Harry a few seconds to take in his handiwork, then reapplied the glamour.

"Why'd you apologize to her?" Harry asked.

"It's what you do when you've wronged someone."

Which brought up a point Draco had been purposefully ignoring for weeks. Apologizing to Granger had stung, but aside from hitting him the once, she never really did much to him.

Potter was a different story.

"You have my apology as well," Draco said. "I operated on beliefs I never bothered to question, and the things I said and did because of those beliefs were inexcusable.

Harry let him finish.

"That's it?" he asked. "After everything, that's how you apologize?"

"Should I get on my knees and grovel?"

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

"You chose to hold their beliefs," Harry said, face darkened. "-because they made you feel superior. _Everyone_ around you told you they were wrong. The professors taught us it was wrong. You were just so exceptionally ordinary that all you had to fall on was your blood to feel superior. You spent years making everyone around you miserable, and the best you have to say is a half-hearted 'whoops?'"

It sounded as if that had been building a while.

"How convenient to be in a position to control the narrative of everyone around you," Draco said. "To be so innately worthy that you can do no wrong."

He had made his apology. Harry's acceptance had no influence on its sincerity. After tonight, they would go their own way and never need to speak again.

"You've always been a git, Malfoy. A few preprepared words don't make it right."

"If there's nothing else," Draco said, "I'll leave you here to live in the past a while longer."

Draco turned to go, but barely made it a step before the spell hit. His feet stuck to the ground, giving Harry the time needed to walk around in front, cutting off his exit.

"I wasn't finished," Harry said.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Go on then. Should I offer more insults you could level at me, or did you want to add a few new scars?"

Mentioning the scars did the trick, and Harry lifted his spell. He stayed at the top of the stairs, forcing Draco to wait on him to move.

"I'm not going to attack you, Malfoy."

Draco scratched his neck.

"Why bother speaking for me? You clearly don't think I deserve it."

"Because of those scars," Harry said, nodding towards Draco.

Potter had managed to go two years without noticing them. The timing of Harry confronting him lined up too well with Granger finding out, and that wasn't a coincidence. He hadn't known about them at the trial. He couldn't have.

Harry went on. "You can be a shit person and I can still be sorry for what I did to you. I had no business doing that spell, and you would have died if it was any other teacher there. I am sorry for that, and now, we're more than even."

The apology fell flat, and Draco wondered if that was the same way they heard the ones he'd given.

"You kept me here to tell me I'm in your debt?" Draco asked. "'Sorry for almost killing you, but you owe me one?'"

"That's not what I said."

"Good we can go on continuing to misrepresent each other. Step aside."

Harry did, but said, "After everything, why choose to be this willfully petty?"

"You know," Draco said, looking around the tower. "This is the second time I'm leaving this tower unforgiven. At least now I won't be the only one."

He brushed by Potter and left the one place in the castle he thought would be private. His common room was full of people who hated him, and his dorm crowded with the same, plus someone who couldn't be counted on to keep her mouth shut.

Slytherin had an agreement never to share any personal information, and none of them would have been caught sharing secrets with other houses. He couldn't even expect reasonable privacy from people living with him. Granger probably thought he hid them solely for vanity. That, or that his secrets didn't matter because they were _his._

Why should she give a Death Eater any basic decency?

He was one of the first to the Great Hall for dinner, and sat alone at the Ravenclaw table. He didn't bother ever sitting at his old table, where he actually had felt comfortable. The point of this year was to layer as much discomfort on him as possible, and fighting that would be signing his own sentence.

He was halfway through picking at his food when Theo sat across from him. He took one look at him and asked, "What happened?"

"Nothing."

There was no reason to say anything. Theo's position here wasn't much better than Draco's, and they all needed to look out for themselves. Theo wasn't the type for confrontation anyway.

"Then why is Potter's group huddled, trying not to get caught looking at you?"

"Apparently we're still living in year six."

He lost what little appetite he had. Draco pushed away his plate, and considering going up to Ravenclaw. He could study, or maybe just sleep. What did grades matter when no one would hire him once he graduated? He'd make money the same way his father had, only without the politics.

He used to care about so much more.

"Did you two argue while I was pulling books?" Theo asked.

"Can we talk about anything else?"

"And here I thought you didn't like talking about homework."

Theo switched to discussing the Transfiguration assignment: turning a block of wood into fully transparent glass. They both had been struggling to keep distortions out of the final product, and talking about that took Draco's mind off the Astronomy tower.

He couldn't change the past. He gave his apologies and now would move on. Letting people he didn't even like tether him to his past only made _them_ feel better.

When Draco finished acting through dinner, everyone else was still in the middle of theirs. That worked fine by him, because the halls leading up to Ravenclaw were empty. Theo left early to walk with him, saying nothing until he answered the riddle.

"You're certain you don't want to talk about it?" Theo asked, once they were in the privacy of the empty common room.

"I really don't."

That was the end of it. They went to their dorm, where they both sat on Draco's bed, taking turns transfiguring the piece of wood. Practicing helped, and with each shift, the clarity of the glass improved. It was a practical application of his focus, and passed the time he had to be awake.

The rest of their roommates filtered in after dinner, but Draco didn't stop practicing. He paid them no mind, and they returned him the same. He changed the wood into glass again and again.

"Malfoy?"

He turned before catching himself, and wished he hadn't. Granger stared at him, fidgeting as if she were building up towards something, and the guilty expression in her eye told him what he needed to know.

He drew his curtain.


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next several weeks, their potion project sped along. Theo excelled at research and Draco knew how to choose each step of the physical brewing process. They both took the work seriously, and conducted themselves politely to the point of excess. She knew what that meant. The two of them bickered when things were all right, meaning the forced nicety indicated something was wrong.

She didn't need to guess at what caused the shift.

On the third weekend of October, they camped out in the potions classroom to try a fifth batch of the empathy potion. The first four attempts had gotten progressively closer, but any sensations felt wafted vaguely through their senses and only lasted a few seconds. The first several tries hadn't been poisonous, at least.

"We're almost out of nettle," Theo said. "We could try a half batch today."

"I'll ask Slughorn if he has more in his stores after class Monday," Draco said. "I still think we'll need to increase the moonstone's simmering time."

"I think so too," Hermione agreed. Agreeing didn't amount to an apology, but she felt she owed it to him. Besides, he knew potion craft well, and she could trust his opinion on this one subject.

She couldn't be trusted. Mentioning the scars to Harry felt appropriate in the moment. After seven years of telling each other everything, it had become habit. A terrible one, she realized, but one she wished she could take back.

The betrayal in Malfoy's gaze stung, unexpected and cold. The first time he trusted her, she ran off to tell someone he hated. He had apologized, let her see under the glamour, and she treated it like gossip.

He'd done nothing to indicate the apology had been a ploy. This year, she heard no one give a single example of any insult or harm from him. Her past kept her from believing the apology was genuine, but no one could prove it.

She couldn't forgive him, but also knew she had still been in the wrong.

"We should try giving the ingredients more time to mix," Draco said. "It should increase the potency."

"Do you think potency is the issue?" Theo asked.

"It's possible. Granger?"

"I think we should try it," she agreed. "Along with a second batch where we try doubling the lemon balm."

Draco nodded and wrote it down. "We'll try the additional brew time today, and adding a few new stirs as we do."

Plan in place, they spent the rest of the morning preparing the batch. Draco handled the actual brewing process, all the hands-on of their assignment. While they were testing and experimenting with different percentages and preparation steps, they chose to avoid any risk for cross-contamination. Amortentia worked despite the brewer, but they needed to account for the fact theirs didn't. Only one person interacted with the potion before they sampled it. Once they found a combination that passed through some emotion, then they could ensure it was the giver's emotions being transferred.

When the potion finished, Theo asked Hermione, "Me or you?"

"I will," Hermione offered.

Draco ladled out a few sips worth and handed it to her, and took out his quill to write down any reaction. So far, there hadn't been too much to record. The last batch, Theo said he thought it made him feel different, but couldn't pinpoint what.

The potion tasted vaguely of the lemon balm but more bitter from the nettle, and she drank all she was offered. Any effects should have been instantaneous.

"Anything?" Theo asked.

She closed her eyes to isolate the new feelings from the old. The guilt was her own, along with the anxiety and hope this batch would work. But there was a flicker of something in her chest that hadn't been there before. She intensified her focus on it, trying to pinpoint what emotion it was. It felt as though some foreign object had wormed under her rib cage.

She hated it.

Having it there made her angry.

"I think increasing the potency should work," she said, opening her eyes. "I can only pinpoint anger."

"Then it's working," Draco said, much too calm to be the source of the anger transferred to her.

Neither she nor Theo spoke for a moment, while Draco labeled a phial to store today's batch. He didn't acknowledge what he just said, but admitting to the anger was the first he'd spoken of it since that night several weeks ago.

"It worked?" Theo asked, stunned.

"Not strongly," Hermione answered. "But there is certainly something there that wasn't before."

"We're ahead of schedule," Draco said, cutting into Theo's evident excitement. He busied himself with cleaning the stray drips around the lip of the phial, going over the rim for far too long. Then he took time wiping his hands off. They were already clean.

"We'll need to get a double order of ingredients from Slughorn," Theo said. His excitement hadn't been dissuaded. "To adjust the potency, and also make sure it isn't tied to the potion maker."

Draco began to pack his things. "I'm sure we all would appreciate finishing early."

The potion hadn't worn off, and the crackling feeling in her chest increased. The anger now was tangible and real, and she felt it as her own. It flushed up her neck, and Hermione knew his dismissal caused it.

"I'm sure you don't speak for everyone," she said. "Some of us are elated about today's success."

"Some of us aren't currently having their emotions tampered with."

"Maybe someone should tamper with _yours_. What is making you this angry?"

Theo cut in. "It got stronger? Is the potency right then?"

His point settled the anger, leaving Hermione to question how much of it belonged to her. It simmered, but bearably. She could force it down and keep it hidden, pretending the potion wore away. They weren't brewing it to last long, after all.

"I can't say for sure," Hermione admitted.

"It needs to be stronger," Draco said, as if that statement meant nothing.

Theo ran his tongue over his teeth, then began to pack his own things. He said nothing more as they cleaned their workspace. That only confirmed her interpretation of what just happened.

She apparently wasn't worth Azkaban either.

Draco stood first to leave, not waiting on Theo. She knew how irresponsible it was for him to walk alone, and let Theo know, "I'm going to catch up."

"You shouldn't."

She did anyway. He kept a quick pace, and she jogged up the stairs to make up for his head start. He glanced back at her footsteps, scoffed, and kept walking.

"Please wait," Hermione said. "I'm sorry."

The apology slowed his steps, giving her the time to catch up. They were halfway to the main hall when she got in front of him, but she didn't move to block his exit. If he want to leave, she wouldn't force him to stay to listen to her.

"You're sorry," he said flatly.

"I am," she said, and had to shift to let the students leaving the library pass. "I didn't respect how much confidence you placed in me, and I never should have said anything to Harry."

Draco shrugged with apparent disinterest. "Only fair, given how little respect I gave you. I'm sure you had a good laugh."

"Of _course_ we didn't."

"Why not? You all had no problem mocking me being transfigured into a ferret and battered against the wall."

"I told them it was wrong," Hermione said. "It was violent."

Draco sighed and looked around at the crowd of students to either side of them. They were all on the way to dinner, and most hadn't stopped to pay them any attention. But Hermione picked out a few people loitering, pretending to be engrossed in their own conversations while stealing cautious glances toward Draco.

"If I accept your apology, are you going to drop this?"

How could he be so blasé about this? She felt his anger. She wronged him and gossiped about something personal to him. Her slight was made even worse by Harry's encounter. She told the person who had given him the scars, and that person cornered him to have a look.

"Would you only be accepting it because you're afraid of Azkaban?" she asked.

A muscle twitched near his eye, and for a short moment, he looked away from her.

"You don't have to accept it now," Hermione went on. "But you have my word, it won't happen again."

"I could have told you that."

The longer they spoke, the more stares they drew. Malfoy drew all manner of negative attention, and even if people might talk, he'd come to more violence if she left him alone. She expected Theo to have caught up by now.

"I'll prove it," Hermione said. "It isn't just words."

He crossed his arms and glanced down at the space between them. It wasn't much. "Right, because that's how you think I interpret an apology."

"Not everyone here is out for your blood, Malfoy," she snapped, voice raised. "How can you possibly function assuming the worst of everyone?"

"I've yet—"

"Get away from her!" came Ron's shout from down the hall. He stormed towards them, wand raised, even though Draco had done as demanded and stepped back. His own wand stayed hidden.

"A little over-protective there, Weasel."

Ron stepped between Hermione and Draco, without lowering his wand. She didn't know what he overheard, or if he assumed the worst from their body language or her tone. But for months now, she told him to let her handle this herself, and didn't appreciate the interference.

"Ron, let's just go."

"Just as soon as the _ferret_ here gets the message."

Draco tilted his head to look past Ron, meeting Hermione's gaze to raise an eyebrow.

"Hey, don't look at her. You're talking to me."

"Am I?" Draco asked.

With a shove, Ron pushed him back into the wall. Hermione grabbed his arm, hoping to stop him before he threw any hexes. Ending an apology by letting Ron throw a furnunculus or worse undid everything she'd just said.

"I'm telling you to leave Hermione alone."

"Gladly," Draco said. "As soon as she returns the favor."

"She doesn't want anything to do with a git like you, Malfoy."

"So what's the problem? Don't trust your girlfriend to fend for herself?"

Ron pinned Draco to the wall, forearm across his chest, so he couldn't walk away even if he wanted to. Given the crowd and attention drawn around them, she knew he did. But he made no move to draw his wand. He didn't even touch Ron to try getting away.

"Ron," Hermione said again. "Nothing was happening. We have our Potions assignment, remember? It was a normal conversation."

"You think you can trust anything he does?" Ron said. "He doesn't know how to do normal, given how loud you were arguing."

"I'm far too _two-faced_ for normal," Draco said, and she heard the anger creeping back out.

This wasn't fair. Draco couldn't fight back without being accused of instigating the whole thing. They couldn't keep antagonizing him into fighting.

"We finally agree on something," Ron said. "Don't let me catch you near her again."

"You'll be completing our potion then?" Draco asked. "I'll look for you in the library Tuesday."

Ron pressed his wand under Draco's chin, forcing it all the way up. "What's it take to make you actually listen?"

"Maybe try punching me again."

Hermione heard enough.

"Walk away, Ron, now."

It must have been the severity of her tone that finally did it, because he stepped back, releasing Draco.

Draco righted his robes and snarled a bit at Ron. But with a glance to the side, he seemed to realize how many people were watching. He grit his teeth and brushed by all of them, in the direction of Ravenclaw Tower.

"He should know better," Ron said.

"You should know better. He wasn't being rude."

"I saw how he was acting. You're too nice to say anything."

She scoffed. "Since when? I am more than capable of defending myself should the need arise. If I want you to step in, I'll ask."

He seemed dumbfounded, as though it never occurred to him that she might be upset. She couldn't fathom where there was any confusion after the many reminders so far this term alone.

"I haven't forgotten what he's done."

"Neither have I, but I'm not going to threaten someone who has done nothing—"

"Nothing? Hermione, he's done a lot more than nothing."

"Nothing this year. Not as much as an off-handed insult."

Which only then struck her. Draco hadn't apologized to Ron. The only insult he'd used was _weasel_ , and that wasn't any worse than Ron calling him _ferret_. She actually would say Ron's was worse, since it was based on an experience that had clearly been traumatizing for Draco.

In two months, the worst he'd been to Hermione was dismissive, a bit curt. They shared a room. He had every opportunity.

And not as much as a dig at her appearance.

"Why are you defending Malfoy?"

"I'm defending my right to make my own choices. I shouldn't have to keep reiterating this."

And certainly not in front of the students who still milled around them. But she told him this in private already. Saying it publicly might help.

"I'm on your side here," Ron stressed.

"So act like it."

She was done rehashing this. She shook her head, and caught sight of Theo at the other end of the hall. He had warned her not to follow.

* * *

On the day of the last Hogsmeade trip before winter holiday, Draco claimed a headache kept him from joining their study session. Hermione and Theo went down to the Potions classroom with plans to have Hermione brew their next batch. Theo would do the tasting. It would be the first time they switched who did what, and hopefully, would confirm they succeeded in the assignment.

"We should draft a paper to go along with this," she said. "I'd like to see others review it."

"We'll need to think applications in defense of it."

They were alone in the classroom as they began to set up. Hermione got her cauldron from the shelf, then took a seat across from Theo to begin chopping the nettle.

"That shouldn't be too difficult. Why do we need a hiccup-inducing potion or one to give you leg cramps?"

Theo brought Draco's notes on the brewing steps and laid them out for Hermione to reference.

"Let's do it," Theo said. "Draco will agree."

"He doesn't mind extra work?"

"It's to his benefit to have his name on an empathy potion, made in conjunction with Harry Potter's best friend."

She picked out two moonstones. "You want to do it so he can use me to his benefit?"

"It's a good potion," Theo said. "And he's an equal part in this."

Hermione had done most of the research with Theo, but compiling the brewing instructions had been entirely Draco's responsibility. He brewed every cauldron up through today. Theo was right that they all had done an equal portion, but she resented being used.

Although, she owed him one from the incident with the scars, then with Ron. Her apology meant nothing if it wasn't backed by action, and the only action she'd taken since giving it was agreeing with him on what steps they needed to pursue next.

"We can talk with him about it tonight," she said.

Draco might say no. Just because he spent a lot of time with Theo didn't mean they could speak for each other. Draco hadn't accepted the apology she offered on Ron's behalf. They both knew those were just words.

"You've been a good partner," Theo said. "I didn't think anyone would be willing to work with us."

"I'm sure it's why Slughorn didn't let anyone pick. You two would have been alone."

"We might have gotten Millicent, but it's good to know you worked through the obligation."

With no other hands-on work required of him for a while, Theo leaned back in his chair and took his quill to add to their notes. She preferred taking them herself, since Theo's handwriting wasn't as precise as hers and Draco's, but these notes probably wouldn't end up being used for anything.

"You can't tell me you don't get it," she said, and cast an aguamenti to fill the cauldron.

"It's hard to believe in second chances when the world won't give you one."

"You didn't take the Mark."

A beat of silence came between them. Theo had done essentially nothing to her, aside from some vague memory of him snickering about her being muggleborn. But he had been with Malfoy then, and might have been going along with the whispered joke.

"My father expected me to," Theo said. "When I came of age."

"Would you have?"

"We all would have."

"Why?" she asked, setting aside her knife. "How can anyone rational believe that?"

"You grow up being ingrained with beliefs. At first, they sound rational. Muggle history shows what happens when wizards and witches were discovered. They don't try pretending otherwise. It always starts there. Protecting our people first. We're an isolated community, and we aren't given other examples."

"And that leads to believing muggleborns stole magic to become like you?"

"Over a decade?" he said. "Anyone can be made to believe anything. Eventually, it goes too far. I mean, taking over the Ministry, taking wands from wizards who have proof where they got them, claiming a seventeen year old was the greatest threat to our world? There's a huge jump from wanting to protect our community to killing muggles for sport. Problem is, once you've been grouped with the wrong side, it seems impossible to change."

She understood the propaganda and knew how susceptible people could be to it. That didn't make it right.

"You always could have switched sides."

"You think so?"

"Why not? We want people to do what's right."

Theo looked at her, and after months of working together, she realized they didn't even know each other.

"The war is over," Theo said. "Draco apologized and has spent months showing everyone that he's trying, but he's still getting attacked and called a death eater. You're telling me if we came to you during the war and offered support, anyone would have believed us?"

"Probably not."

"So we would have defected, given up our safety for a cause that considered us a threat, and risked our family being tortured or killed for it."

"It was still the right thing to do," she said, but the sentiment sounded hollow, even to her.

"You'd kill your parents if it meant a useless moral high ground?" he asked.

"There must have been a way," she insisted, because she believed it. Even if she might not have believed them, someone else could have. Andromeda might have taken in Draco, at least for Narcissa's sake.

"If anyone found it, I'd love hearing how."

"Snape managed."

"And you always trusted him?"

"I trusted Dumbledore's vouch."

"Dumbledore died."

It would have been easy to retort that Malfoy led to that. But Dumbledore and Snape planned his death. Dumbledore easily could have stopped Draco at any point during the year. Giving Draco an out when it was too late was almost cruel. One conversation could have resolved everything.

"We obviously were on the wrong side," Theo said. "No one's denying that. But punishing people when they try to come around only makes it less likely to happen."

"I'm not trying to do that," Hermione said.

"And I'm not talking about you. I said I appreciated you giving us a chance."

Hermione focused on the potion for a while, mulling over everything he had said. She divided her attention between what sounded like a justification for supporting Voldemort and a potion she needed to brew perfectly. She was their age and had always known better.

"Did you really believe what he touted?" she asked. "Do you think I'm worth less than a pureblood?"

"What else was there to mock about you? You're good at bloody everything."

"That's terrible reasoning."

"And it was terrible for us to say. Did you expect a good reason?"

"There isn't one," she said.

"That's what I'm saying," Theo agreed. "But I'm also not going to spend the next however many years apologizing for actions I can't change."

She stirred the potion a few times, then reversed the direction as Draco's notes indicated.

"I can't forget the past," she said.

"You're the only one who seems open to accept the present."

Draco had crossed out three stirs in place of four. He even indicated the speed of each rotation.

"Is he really still being attacked?"

"It's nothing new."

"That didn't happen before," Hermione said. "Hogwarts never just let students attack each other."

"Never let a student be beaten bloody on the Quidditch pitch?" Theo asked. "Punched in the face? Transfigured into a slug on the train? Hit with a new form of killing curse?"

She hated hearing them listed like that. Hated hearing one of her own incidents included. Hated they were all examples for one student.

"He wasn't an innocent bystander," she pointed out.

"He's even less innocent now. You can't expect the attacks to lessen."

"McGonagall would put a stop to it if she knew. He can't defend himself."

Theo gave her an amused look. "I've known Draco my entire life and have spent a lot of that time listening to him talk about himself. That doesn't mean I want to talk about him in my spare time."

"We weren't just talking about him."

"We're talking in circles. So," he said, changing his tone to signal a change in the topic, "—You want to write a paper on this. Do you plan to be a potions master?"

"Not at all. I don't see any reason to do anything halfway."

"That's going a lot over halfway," Theo pointed out. "What are you thinking you might do?"

"Something involving advocating for magical creatures."

"Oh yeah," Theo said, and peered over to check the progress of the potion. "You were trying to pull people into that Spout thing."

"SPEW," she corrected. "And it's truly stunning how poorly they're treated. Not only the elves, but the goblins, centaurs, werewolves."

He looked at her pointedly for a moment.

"Is that why you're willing to be around? Got a thing for lost causes?"

"I don't believe you consider yourself a lost cause," she said. "But take the werewolves, for example. They were made into outcasts, and then the Ministry ends up surprised when they sided against them."

"It's a good point. Especially since you-know-who didn't like them either. It's like I said, they got cornered and had nowhere else to go."

"They could have not taken a side."

"Because neutrality is considered more highly?"

That was fair.

"Think of Professor Lupin. He got punished for something out of his control, but had done nothing wrong. Someone hurt him, so society turned against him."

"I liked him," Theo said. "It was the only year we had practical experience."

Quirrell taught more theory and history while Lockhart taught his fantasy. Crouch told invented stories since he was a fraud and Umbridge taught the same things as Quirrell. Snape put together a good lesson plan, but had an abysmal teaching style.

"Why did you come back this year?" Hermione asked him. None of the Slytherins had to, but most of them chose to return.

"We haven't graduated."

"It's signing up for a difficult year."

"We're a lot less noticeable in blue, red, and yellow."

"They're just robes."

"Are they?"

When the potion finished brewing, Hermione ladled some out to give to him. He raised the phial to her before drinking, and closed his eyes. Hermione said nothing to let him get a feel for it.

"I didn't imagine you'd be this confused."

"It isn't something I advertise."

And Theo's side of the war had given her too much to think about. It had been a lot simpler to view the entirety of Slytherin house as an adversary rather than children caught up in something bigger than themselves. It would have been a lot easier to keep believing the worst of them.

* * *

The time before break passed in a flurry of essays and exams. The empathy potion passed with Slughorn's highest praise, and he took the paper to pass along to other potions masters. The rest of her classes went well. Ginny excelled on the Quidditch team and Harry cheered her on from the sidelines.

She and Ron didn't quite make up. They put the argument behind them, pointedly not talking about it. He went as far as to avoid glancing to their half of the room during Potions, like seeing her talk to her partners was too intolerable for him.

The entire thing felt petty. All this conflict over Draco Malfoy, who Hermione only spoke to for school. Who, despite Ron's insistence, did nothing to indicate his apology was a lie. He didn't have to be friendly to not be cruel.

When Christmas Break came, Harry pulled Hermione to the side after breakfast.

"Ron says you aren't coming to the Burrow."

"I'm not," Hermione said. "I want some time alone this year."

"None of us should be alone," Harry said. He checked around them to ensure no one was close enough to overhear. "You know he misses you. How things were before."

"I'm sure he does. You and I both know he had no right to tell me how to act."

"He's concerned about you is all."

She didn't need a lecture, or a guilt trip on why she should be acting any differently. If Ron wanted to talk more, he should have mucked up the courage to address it himself.

"I realize that. But he can care about me without controlling me."

"Malfoy hurt you. A lot."

Closing her eyes, she thought for a way to get them to understand. She must have been explaining it poorly. They couldn't be this willfully obtuse.

"Talk to Ginny about why she ended things with Dean," she said. "Maybe she can explain it better than I can."

"I know why—"

"Not the facts. About how he made her feel. Trust me, Harry. It's miserable to be treated like you constantly need help."

Harry considered, and stayed quiet a moment. If Hermione had to use Ginny to get through to them both, she would.

"Maybe you could tell him that."

"I have. He's just blinded by hatred, or maybe some ancient notion of chivalry."

And she would rather stay at Hogwarts through the holiday than have Ron's family guilting her to forgive actions he was unlikely to change. There would be plenty of holidays at the Burrow in the years to come. Missing one hardly seemed significant.

"I'll miss you too," Harry said, and pulled her into a hug. "It won't be the same."

"You'll have your hands full with Molly. She'll be planning your wedding at the first chance."

Harry blushed and let the conversation slip away. He must have been Ron's last line of attack, because when the time came for them to head down to the train, Ron said nothing more of her going home with him. He kissed her goodbye and offered her a happy Christmas, with a short reminder not to study too much.

All students returning home boarded the train at ten, and she had her first chance to walk the castle halls alone. Seven years at Hogwarts and she had never seen the halls so empty, except in her excursions out after curfew. In half an hour of walking, of tracing her fingertips over the stone walls and pausing to glance out windows she never had before, she passed one person, a second year. She searched out passages and rooms she'd never seen, taking Ron's advice to study less.

The day passed peacefully and she enjoyed every moment of it. Dinnertime came and she found the Great Hall transformed from that morning. Christmas decorations had been set up, trees lining the room, mistletoe and candles hung from the ceiling, and rosemary saplings had been set out as centerpieces. The scent of them filled the room and flavored all the food slightly. All the professors sat at the table with the few remaining students. She recognized most of them, young and most orphaned from the war. The oldest, a fourth year, was muggleborn. Her parents had been killed months before the final battle.

Then there was Draco. He sat alone at the end of the table, the tip of a thumbnail resting gently between his teeth. His plate was untouched.

She carried on a conversation with Professor Vector, with Slughorn chiming in with some trivial tale from his past. Hermione enjoyed the stories more tonight because it felt like she was one of their colleagues, not a student they needed to teach something to.

She regretted the end of dinner, and having to end her first true day off in a while. But she had a fortnight of days like today ahead of her.

Oddly, she didn't realize what staying at Hogwarts entailed until she got to her room. Draco left dinner early and beat her to the tower, and now sat in his bed reading. He glanced up from his book, met her gaze, and went back to reading.

She would be alone in here with him.

Shaking her head a bit, she told herself even the insinuation behind the thought was absurd. Malfoy had been more personable to her this year than Justin had been, and she hadn't thought twice about sharing a dorm with him.

"Should I go sleep in the common room?" Draco asked, turning a page.

"I hardly think that'll be necessary."

"I wouldn't have."

She laughed from the sheer shock of it. "Then why offer?"

"Propriety."

Hermione dismissed him with thinly veiled amusement. She could get by without too many run-ins with Draco.

He didn't look up from his book again.


	6. Chapter 6

On the first full day of break, Hermione went to the library, excited at the possibility of having it to herself. She took her choice of desks, with the complete selection of books to choose from, and read through lunch. She switched books as she felt like it, and twice moved seats simply because the option was available to her.

There weren't many places in the castle where students could spend their time, so she expected someone would come in during the day, if even for a place to talk, but no one did. By dinner, she thought she'd gone the longest she had in years without seeing another person.

It made her appreciate the conversation at dinner even more, because when she went up to the dorm after, Draco said nothing.

On the second day of break, she returned to the library, but at lunch, began to find the silence oppressive. She lost focus on the words on the page, listening instead to the tap of snow against the window, to the flickering of flame in the lamps, and to the creaking of her chair when she shifted. Telling herself there would be plenty of time to read during the remainder of break, she returned to wandering the halls.

Hermione tried to open the Room of Requirement, curious to whether the castle had repaired itself or remained ash, but half an hour of pacing in front of the empty wall failed to produce a door. With that mystery left unresolved, she searched for others. If Hogwarts had one hidden room, certainly there would be more, but she didn't know where to start her search. Maybe she could ask Harry to borrow the map and use it to search out the unplotted sections.

Until then, she returned to walking the halls. Hogwarts felt much bigger when it was crowded and her days were scheduled. She ran out of new paths to take by dinner on the second night.

On the third day to herself, Hermione became antsy. She tired of traveling the same paths as the previous day, so she went outside. It was cold enough to bite through her warming charm, and after an hour, she had to go back inside. She considered visiting Hagrid, but knew the cold would drive him to offer her a cup of tea. Hermione didn't have it in her to refuse.

She went inside with the first snowflakes of an incoming storm stuck to her hair. While she walked upstairs, she twisted it into a bun. The snow would add to the frizz as it melted if she didn't tie it back now.

Halfway to the tower, she spotted Draco sitting on the window ledge where she and Harry had talked. He had the same book she'd seen him reading the last few nights, with his legs stretched out on the ledge. He wasn't reading though. His attention focused outside on the massive snowflakes twirling toward the ground.

"What are you reading?"

He turned. Draco wore a green jumper he must have gotten back during his days in Slytherin, but it was the most casual she had seen him in public.

"Cavendish's Field Guide."

"You like Herbology?"

"I like _Potions_ ," he said, offended.

"You have a great knack for the theory of it," she said to counter the slight she'd apparently given him.

"I realize."

"Is your arrogance a front or genuine?"

"I'd say it's earned."

She closed the distance and leaned against the wall near the window. After three days of no conversation save the ones over dinner, she decided to give Malfoy a chance.

"Why's that?"

"Because I'm good at potion craft. Why would I downplay it?"

"Most people would," she pointed out.

"False modesty is a lie."

"And you're above lying?"

"Only when it has no purpose."

To look at her while they spoke, he had to angle up. She caught an annoyed downturn to his lips, but no anger behind it. If all they did this year was annoy each other, she could deal with that easily.

"I thought you weren't meant to be talking to me," he said.

"Do you want me to let you get back to reading?" Hermione asked, choosing not to comment on his insinuation.

"I am here to learn, after all."

"It's a very dry sense of humor, isn't it," she mused. "It's no wonder you come across so harshly."

"I'd attribute that more to the years of bullying than to my wit."

He had a habit, she'd noticed, of bringing up incredibly personal things to make his point hit just a bit deeper. Self-deprecation to win a single point was a new method of debate she had never seen before. Because she hadn't heard him use that method at any point before now, she had to wonder how true the sentiment behind the words was.

Although, referring to himself as a bully might have been a sign of progress. The apology might not have been ordered.

"Might've played a part," she said. "Plus the whole Death Eater phase."

Mentioning it made him close his book. He lowered his legs and made to stand, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"What happened to it not being an insult if it's true?" she asked, and took a seat on the ledge now that he'd moved his feet.

She picked out the struggle in the crinkle between his eyebrows, in the flex of his jaw, and in the seconds that ticked by while he debated answering. If he said no to a response, she wouldn't hold it against him. They didn't know each other well enough for this sort of conversation.

"I had no control in that."

"And you don't appreciate people insulting the parts of you that you can't change?"

He glared, not for long. Draco looked at some point in the distance. "I won't apologize again."

It really had been genuine.

"I guess I'm just glad to know you meant it," she said. "You don't get points for having to experience it to understand it was wrong."

"If you're going to lecture at me, I'm going to walk away."

"It isn't lecturing," Hermione said. "And you're the only person in the castle my age. I'd rather not spend the next two weeks with second years."

He didn't answer her for a moment, glancing down to the seat they shared, then back up to her. She knew he would have been confused; she would have been too if their roles were reversed.

"Why did you stay?" he asked. It hadn't been the response she anticipated.

"I didn't feel like going to the Burrow. The idea felt very…crowded."

She had set up an insult against the Weasley family without intending to. After how many times she heard him make digs at their living situation, she prepared to defend them from her own words.

"You certainly don't have that issue here."

"No," she said, and paused a moment, surprised to let her guard down. "It's the exact opposite."

"So you compromise by crowding in here?" he asked with a nod to the ledge.

"Why did you stay?"

He went back to staring out the window, having to face her slightly to do so. "Mother moved to the house in France. I'm not permitted to leave the country."

"Why did she move?"

According to Harry, Narcissa had been willing to risk her life for Draco. She lied to Voldemort, then ran through a battle only searching out her son. Leaving Draco alone didn't line up with those actions.

"I can't leave Scotland," he clarified. "I couldn't have gone to Wiltshire."

"Would you have wanted to?" she asked, and caught her hand before it touched her arm, where the scar was hidden under her sleeve. She had one day of memories in his house and couldn't fathom going back.

"Not for the sake of the house."

It had been in disrepair last spring. Hermione didn't know what sort of effort it would take to get it back to how it had been before. She couldn't imagine the Malfoys wanted their house coated in grime and broken glass, and even they couldn't want the memories trapped inside.

"You didn't go home?" Draco asked, although the question in his tone felt unnecessary. "I remember your parents."

There was a second she considered lying, telling him they had been killed during one of the attacks on the families of the muggleborns. The truth hurt just the same.

"I obliviated them," she admitted. "Had them leave the country so they wouldn't be hurt."

He nodded, but didn't apologize like everyone else had when she told them. She heard the same contrite condolences too many times before, and had expected them again, not his actual comment of, "That saved their life."

"What?"

"You're the best friend of Undesirable Number One," he said, and gave her the courtesy of not pretending to look out the window any longer. "They looked."

She never had any confirmation of it. For a year now, she had been convincing herself she overreacted, that if she did nothing, they would still know her. She regretted it all this time.

But she had been right.

"You're sure?"

"I sat in their meetings."

She shouldn't have felt any relief hearing him talk about the plans to kill her parents. Malfoy was a Death Eater, willing or not, and he spent years tormenting her because of her parents. Listening to him should have made her angry.

"Maybe I shouldn't have been rash," she said. "But they already knew something was wrong. They wouldn't have let me go with Harry."

"They didn't want you involved," he said.

She thought that tone might have been jealousy.

"I still would have gone."

"You've had a very different experience here than I did," Draco said.

"That's your own fault."

He sighed, frustrated. "I know."

"I don't forgive you for it," she said. Despite having been cordial so far this year, the past couldn't be unwritten. She had his biases carved into her arm.

Although, she supposed, so did he.

"I don't recall asking you to."

"You don't mind not being forgiven?"

He lifted a shoulder. "I don't control it. There's no way to go forward fixating on my past."

"Most people would try making amends," she said. "Or proving they've changed."

"You wouldn't be sitting here if you didn't think I was trying."

That point she conceded. He hadn't asked her to accept his effort, but she noticed it anyway. She had felt his anger through the potion and knew he had been working to control it. She wouldn't punish an attempt to better himself, no matter who he was. If they wanted the world to be a better place, people needed to encourage repentance.

He propped his book against the window to fold his hands together. "Why are you talking to me?"

"Until you give me a reason, I'll hold you to your truce. It's important not to push people down when they're trying to grow."

Something about that statement seemed to amuse him. He didn't say what, and she didn't ask.

"You and Theo were good Potions partners," Hermione said.

"I'm sure you're glad to get back to Weasley."

"The classes will be much more peaceful without all that bickering."

"Be grateful Blaise went to Gryffindor then," Draco said, and closed his eyes. She didn't say anything, anticipating the following, "I really hate being Ravenclaw."

She eyed the green jumper, as if to say she caught on.

"I actually don't mind it."

* * *

After breakfast the next morning, the idea of returning to the library alone or walking aimlessly through the castle weighed on her. The thought of carrying on in a similar manner for another two weeks felt like an eternity.

So with little other option, she followed Draco out of the Great Hall.

He glanced back when he noticed. "Need something?"

"Have you really just been reading these last few days?"

"What else do you imagine I'm doing?"

"The pitch is empty. You could go flying."

"It's much colder on a broom, Granger."

He started walking again, and she kept pace beside him. He had been reading through breakfast, so he had a book and she didn't.

"Do you plan to go back to reading by the window?"

"What are you doing?" he asked, stopping to face her. "I thought you lot were done following me."

"There's only so much time I can spend sitting in silence. You don't want to either."

"What makes you so certain?"

"You haven't told me to walk away just yet."

"If I did, would you leave?" he asked.

"Of course." She didn't understand why that was even a question. Why would anyone hang around if they weren't wanted?

He looked back the way they came, then seemed to make up his mind. "I'm going to be reading."

"Then let's sit in the library. You can recommend something to me."

He ended up choosing a book on potion making, which she assumed was due to her comment the day before. She hadn't read this one, or even seen it on the shelf in her hundreds of trips to the library. It was a thin volume, tucked between a series of much larger tomes, and the binding cracked when she opened it. The author focused on the physical nature of the craft, how to determine the necessary weight and simmering time for the ingredients, why stirring was vital to the outcome, and more topics she thought should have been approached in the classroom. They spent far more time practicing making them over learning theory.

She and Draco sat opposite each other, reading silently.

* * *

The next day, he had a different book at breakfast. He read between bites and she caught a glimpse of the cover.

"I was beginning to think you didn't read fiction," she said on the walk to the library.

"Because I've been studying while at school?"

"You study more than I do."

"With reason," he said.

She expected that at any moment, he would decide to take her up on her offer to leave. But he must have found the empty castle as stifling as she did, because over the next several days, he said nothing about her presence.

At times, he was difficult to interact with, but they paved over the disputes with little commentary. He didn't like being told when he was wrong.

But the things he was wrong about rarely turned out to be significant enough for continued debate. Their biggest argument stemmed from literature, when she mentioned Arabian Nights sounded like the wizard-written novel Draco was reading. He said he didn't see the point in reading about a world he would never be a part of.

"Limiting your experiences is the surest way to encourage prejudice," she told him. "How can you possibly have opinions of a group of people without knowing anything about them?"

"I took three years of Muggle Studies."

"Arthur Weasley works with muggles and still doesn't truly know anything about them. You wouldn't possibly think negatively of them if you realized how much they accomplished."

He rolled his eyes. "Does changing my views mean having to advocate for everyone?"

"What happens if the Wizengamot decides you'll be sentenced to a life without magic?" Hermione asked, and amazingly, his face grew paler. "You'd have to live with the muggles."

"It won't come to that."

"Imagine it does. You may end up in that situation."

"It _won't._ "

"I grew up with muggles. What do you think that was like? Huddling around a fire, praying for magic?"

"It'd be harder."

"They don't know magic exists," Hermione said. "They get around perfectly well without it."

He humored her for a few minutes of debate, but had finished it off by saying it didn't matter, because if sentenced to life as a squib, he would live with his mother and manage their properties.

She had been annoyed, but after a day reflecting on the conversation, saw it as progress. He hadn't insulted muggles. He hadn't made any digs at her. He only said it wasn't relevant to him. She had an equally hard time convincing anyone to join SPEW.

On a night near Christmas, Hermione finally convinced him not to sit alone at dinner. If he expected people to believe he was putting the past behind him, he needed to make an effort to not isolate.

"Do you not believe me?" he asked, and although she couldn't answer, he sat beside her to talk with Vector and McGonagall. He spoke only when addressed, but he couldn't pretend to be distracted by dinner because he hardly touched his food. The topics ranged from the course load to how Harry and Ron were doing, to the empathy potion they made. Draco could have contributed more, but he kept quiet.

After dinner, she asked, "Is that creating a good second impression?"

"I'm trying to make it through this year, Granger, not kiss up to the professors."

"Isn't it miserable always being alone?"

"I can't be alone with you nagging."

He seemed to realize at the same moment she did. Draco started to add onto the thought, but closed his mouth and waited on her to respond.

"You'd be bored if I didn't," she said, and caught the flash of relief. "Or should I go? Pansy will be back soon and I'm sure—"

"You win. I appreciate the company."

She realized. Six years at Hogwarts and she couldn't think of a time she had seen him alone. Back then, she didn't give it much thought. She hadn't been alone often either.

"Is tattling to Pansy really such a threat?"

"You've yet to hear Pansy nag."

They walked up towards the tower together. In the lulls of conversation, she remembered who exactly was at her side. It used to be when they passed in the halls, she could expect a petty remark about her hair, teeth, or blood, which would trigger laughter from anyone nearby. Now he watched every word, and without him needing to say so, she knew he wouldn't insult her again. Maybe he still thought them.

There was a lot to consider. He spent so long intentionally trying to hurt her that she shouldn't enjoy his company. Blaming it on the empty castle would have been easy. If she lied to herself enough, she might believe it.

If he had been anyone else, this wouldn't have been an issue.

"Do you actually dislike having me around?" she asked.

"You shouldn't want to be."

"Is that a yes?"

He stopped walking, halfway up the staircase, so she did too. "You bring up the guilt."

"A little guilt is a good sign."

"You're a walking reminder of my past."

They both leaned against the walls opposite each other, almost within sight of the tower's entrance. She preferred to talk about this here, outside of the intimacy of a bedroom.

"I don't think it's possible to put the past behind you without making amends," Hermione said. "Guilt doesn't just go away."

"Fine," he said, meeting her gaze. "What amends do you want?"

She startled, unsure of how to answer. Nothing he could say or do rewrote the past. Nothing he could offer her would change her experiences. She didn't want anything from him.

"Not to do it to anyone else, I suppose."

He raised a shoulder. "What do you think I've been doing?"

"Avoiding Azkaban."

Draco scoffed in exasperation before storming off towards the tower. They weren't finished, and she would have followed even if she wasn't going the same way.

"I heard you say so. You told Theo that Zacharias wasn't worth it."

"Not responding to a death wish is vastly different than debating the merits of Quidditch with you," he said, and had to stop to listen to the riddle.

"A death wish?"

"But no, obviously I'm on my best behavior in trivial situations to avoid prison. Brightest witch of the generation my ass."

"It's wind," she told the eagle when Draco didn't answer. The door swung open, and they both stared at it without going through. She wanted to respond, but everything she made to say sounded wrong the moment she thought of it.

"I can't spend my life fighting for approval I'll never have," he said.

"You don't care if people like you?"

"People who won't forgive me never will," he said, and looked at her. "You're the one who is bored. I didn't ask you to talk to me."

He went inside first, and she hated that she had nowhere else to retreat to. She lagged a few steps behind him for the illusion of distance, but ultimately, they ended up in the eighth year dorm. The proximity would force them to address this, and she chose not to put it off.

"Three months doesn't make up for six years."

"When did I ask you to forgive me?" Draco asked. "Your resentment has nothing to do with me."

"You want everyone to hate you?"

"Fighting for forgiveness is futile."

"Or maybe it's just hard," she snapped. "Are you afraid to fight?"

Draco worked his jaw, and she was almost grateful to know he was being honest. They might not agree, but earnestness was a step in the right direction.

She didn't know why she cared.

"Do you want me to fight?" he asked. "To pressure you into moving on? Or would seeing me miserable make it right in your mind?"

Deflating, she shook her head.

"Then what do you want? What more am I meant to do to allow me to leave this behind?" he asked. The sincerity carried from his body language into his tone, although none of the anger faded.

"Nothing."

"Then stop blaming me for your inability to accept you enjoy being around me," he said. "Own the bad habit or leave me alone."

He went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, leaving her stunned in the middle of the room. She stared at the door like he might come out and shout some more. Maybe then she could make sense of what just happened.

She sat on her bed, hating that as she replayed what happened, he was right. Her problem came down to the simple fact she enjoyed his company and didn't know how to reconcile that with the boy she knew growing up. So much of him was the same as he'd always been. He was quick to anger, arrogant, and close-minded. But she had been searching him out.

_A bad habit._

Once term resumed, their group project was over, and there would be no justification to seek him out. His friends would return and so would hers. She had to decide where to go from here, because nothing about this made sense. How could she live with both versions, the one she remembered and the one living with her now?

She wanted people to be free to grow and improve, to recognize when they were wrong and not to be punished for striving to be better. If they held people to who they had been and continued to punish them for the past, no one would want to grow.

But why was it her job to extend a hand?

It wasn't. He said so himself. She clutched onto his past while insisting he be someone else. She sought him out every day and demanded he be two separate versions of himself.

It took him ages to leave the bathroom, and she hadn't moved during that time.

"You've given me no reason to doubt your efforts," she said.

"I'm not trying to prove anything." He had calmed considerably.

"You did regardless. Unless you give me a reason to change my mind, I can put the past behind me."

"Why?"

"Because you were right. I do like spending time with you, even when you call me a nag."

He rolled his eyes to the side, but smirked a bit. "That was unintentional."

"You're letting your guard slip around me."

Draco was comfortable enough to joke around with a muggleborn. It was the first he'd treated her like a friend, even unintentionally. If that was the worst insult he came up with in the moment, maybe his thoughts reflected in his speech.

"Term starts soon," Draco said. "It's putting too much effort in when we both know this is temporary."

"We'll still share a dorm."

"I've already had Weasel threaten me once. You three specifically could affect my parole."

"Ron's harmless," Hermione said. "I'll talk to him."

"I'd prefer if you didn't."

Talking to Harry created a lot of issues for Draco, so she guessed she understood it. But Ron could at least stop threatening him or trying to control whether they spoke to each other.

"I could do without him antagonizing someone who can't fight back."

He looked at her with something akin to disbelief. "Save your breath. I have no intention of going anywhere near Weasley."

"Something you want to say?"

"I won't."

"You don't even know him," she said. "You probably had a similar opinion of me before."

"I had very different opinions of you both."

That didn't make any sense. Wouldn't Ron's blood status alone have made Draco think more of him than her? And he accepted her easily enough now. Was it just how close Ron and Harry were?

"I won't press," she said. "I want to."

"Talking about your boyfriend will go badly."

He was as stubborn as Ron. But he was trying to avoid conflict, and she couldn't fault him for it. They could interact on neutral ground.

"You're complicating things for no reason," he added.

She was. There was no reason she should be making this effort to spend time with Draco Malfoy. She couldn't explain it, but decided she didn't need to.

"Maybe a little conflict isn't such a bad thing."


	7. Chapter 7

Draco leaned onto the bridge railing, taking in the thick mist filling the valley below. A gentle snow fell around them, but melted when it came near his warming charm. They had spent most of the break inside the castle, and Draco finally let Hermione convince him to go outside.

"Did you ever see the destroyed bridge?" she asked.

"I wasn't outside during," he said. His mother's wand burned in the fiendfyre, and Draco spent the rest of the battle without a wand. It became a necessity to remain hidden from everyone. Both sides considered him an enemy.

_And that_ _'_ _s the second time we've saved your life tonight, you two-faced bastard!_

By the time he heard his parents shouting for him, he'd learned his lesson. If even the supposed heroes interpreted him begging for his life as treason, there was no hope for him. He listened to the battle from the safety of the Transfiguration classroom, waiting to be killed by the hand of Order or Death Eater.

"The whole day was a blur," Hermione said, and then in brighter tone, "I spent part of it in the Chamber of Secrets."

"Really?"

She nodded and turned to lean back against one of the pillars, giving them a better angle for conversation. They both had cast warming charms, and standing close made them more effective. The charms didn't warm the wind, however, and whenever it picked up, it felt like there were no charms cast at all.

"It wasn't hard to get to. Ron had gone with Harry back in second year, and he picked up the parseltongue needed to open it."

Her comment made the statement sound so simple, and he almost overlooked the central point from it. He thought over it again, then angled in to her. "Parseltongue can be learned?"

She shrugged. "You can at least speak it well enough to trick a door."

Mulling over the idea, Draco said, "I'm going to research that."

"Careful, Malfoy. You're starting to sound very Ravenclaw."

"I've always read a lot," he said, not bothering to hide his offense, despite knowing she was teasing. "It's a very _Slytherin_ skill to want to learn."

"Keep telling yourself that," she said, and paused when a sudden gale creaked the bridge. "Even Theo is embracing the change."

"I don't know what _even Theo_ is supposed to mean. _Even Goyle_ is a more logical argument."

"I don't know why you're teaching me to argue against you," she said, and brought her hands to her mouth to exhale on them. Her breath fogged around her face for a moment.

"You could always walk away," he said.

"Where's the fun there?"

She stuffed her hands back into her pockets. The wind picked up again, just as cold as it had been when they came out an hour ago. It whipped his hair into his eyes, though not nearly as bad as Hermione's. Strands were pulled loose from her ponytail and she constantly had to tuck them back behind her ears.

Why did he let her convince him to come outside in December?

"You have ridiculous notions of fun."

"You didn't like exploding snap."

"You didn't like chess."

"It's worse than Monopoly," she said, sounding very cross. He didn't get the chance to ask before she added, "It's a muggle game. Buying and selling property to take control of the full board. Eternally long and equally boring."

"Half my family's wealth came from buying and selling property."

"I thought you were old money."

"Half was an exaggeration."

She moved to lean on the railing, matching his posture. His height forced him to bend down more to get his arms on his railing, and when he turned to talk to her, they were at eye level.

"My parents are dentists," she said. "So they both had a high income, before Australia."

He attempted to form a mental image of his mother working. He tried out several different scenarios, each more ridiculous than the last: waking up before dawn to run a bakery, writing mundane articles for the Prophet, running messages at the Ministry, sitting on the Wizengamot listening to cases not even worth the gossip.

Event planning was the simplest to envision, but even that was a reach. The idea alone made him chuckle.

"Why is that funny?"

"I've never imagined my mother having to work before," he said. "It isn't an easy mental image."

"I'd get incredibly bored without work," Hermione said.

"That I can imagine."

He had a book tucked under his arm, a habit he'd picked up from her constantly carrying one around with her. Aside from their casual conversations, he always saw her working on something. She had been the one to schedule their potions study groups, and had made them meet three times as often as the other groups.

"What did you want to be as a kid?" she asked.

"My father."

She closed her eyes for a moment while another gust of wind battered them.

"And now?"

What he wanted was simple, to keep his head down and get through these next several years with as little hostility as possible. But she didn't mean that. She hadn't meant to ask after Lucius either.

"Anything else."

"I remember your parents at the battle," Hermione said. "I wasn't surprised to see your mother searching for you, but your father was just as frantic."

"You didn't think my father cared about me?"

"I couldn't imagine him caring about anyone."

Draco picked an example she had witnessed. "He spent an obscene amount to get me on the Quidditch team. He came to the games. Why would I turn to him constantly if he didn't care?"

"He tried to kill an eleven year old that year," she said.

"He loves me," Draco said, and went back to staring down at the valley. "I realize now that doesn't mean he's a good person."

"It took you a while."

He glanced away from the distant point he'd chosen to focus on, only long enough to give her a pointed look. After their conversation the other night, he thought they both agreed to leave the past where it was. The guilt didn't change anything.

"Potter had a point," he relented. "I knew most people had beliefs contrary to mine. But questioning my beliefs meant questioning my parents. Accepting what I was hearing meant rejecting them."

"What changed your mind?"

"How genuine could their love be if they raised me to serve him?"

She tensed a bit although he hadn't even used the name. Saying it still felt taboo, like if he said it, he would be called down from the safety of his room and be forced to torture more people.

Wizards and muggles bled the same.

"Why do you always answer so honestly?"

"What lie would benefit me? Claiming I was under an imperius my entire childhood?"

His father might have tried it again, but it couldn't have worked a second time. Harry told the Wizengamot that Lucius came at Voldemort's return. He described the scene in the graveyard and in the Department of Mysteries. His description made Lucius sound pathetic, but willing.

He'd made Draco sound pathetic, but unwilling. Draco hadn't denied any of it.

"You're just open about personal things."

"Why ask if you don't expect an answer?"

"I thought you'd answer differently, was all."

He really couldn't make sense of her. By every account, including her own, they should avoid each other. He understood that his past was an obstacle no one at Hogwarts could overcome, and he didn't plan to make them.

But he'd been ruthless to Granger. He had wished her dead because of her parents, when it was his parents that turned out to be the issue. Hermione was overbearing at times, nosy, bossy, irrational—but nothing worse than his own flaws. He overlooked worse in plenty of others.

"Would you rather I lied?"

"Tell me a lie," she said. "So I can remember what they're like."

He ran his tongue over his teeth to cover his amusement, but met her gaze. "I want to be a healer."

Her eyes flickered over his face, from forehead to mouth and back. He told himself he believed it to sell the lie as best he could, but after a few seconds, she shook her head. "You lie like you're posing a challenge."

"Prove it."

He didn't expect her to smile so easily.

"I'm cold," she said. "Let's head in."

"I don't get why you dragged me out here anyway."

"You've been holed up in the common room for a week and a half," she said. Her cheeks and nose were flushed with the cold, and she adjusted her scarf before starting up the bridge. He followed beside her.

"So have you."

"Precisely. It's our only chance to see the castle like this."

"And this is a memory you wanted to keep?"

"Maybe it is. Maybe I just wanted to borrow an extra warming charm."

"Some good that did."

"We may have frostbite without them," she said in apparent exaggeration. "Besides, people will be back in a few days. Don't you want to make the most of the break?"

"Are you going to accept anything other than a yes?"

"Nope."

She really could be insufferable, he thought, but didn't fall out of pace beside her. He had to walk slower, intentionally.

"Maybe you can give me another go at chess," she said when they crossed the courtyard.

"You were just saying it was boring."

"I know, but—"

"Hermione?"

Weasley was coming out of the castle, wearing an oversized sweater with a set of goal hoops on it. He gave Hermione a confused glance, and quickly came over to her.

"What did I tell—" he started to say to Draco, who held up a hand to stop him.

"I'm walking away," he said, and gave Hermione a tired look. He'd proved his earlier point.

"What are you doing here?" she asked Ron. "I thought you'd come back on the train."

"Didn't like the idea of you being alone here, but I see that—"

Draco didn't stay to listen. He went inside, glad to be out of the wind, and headed toward the common room. Granger could go back to dragging Weasley around, leaving Draco to read in peace, to sit by himself during meals, to make it through the year.

Though, he did like the empty castle. He liked being at Hogwarts up through these last couple years. Sixth year had been miserable, but not nearly so much as the incomplete one from the year after., when there had been torture at school and at home.

Halfway to the common room, he changed his mind. He had a book with him, so might as well go read in the library. He didn't want to chance running into Weasley and Granger in the tower. Ideally, they would spend their time alone in Hufflepuff.

Draco would have taken Azkaban over Hufflepuff.

Camping out at a corner table, Draco read through the afternoon. He had been reading consistently since May, with much less available for him to do. The books he could safely read were boring, because anything remotely dark was bound to draw suspicion. So he read about plants and history and detailed accounts of which cauldrons worked best for which potions.

He skipped dinner, certain he wouldn't be missed.

That night, he slept alone in the dorm.

The next day was much like the first two of break. He sat at the end of the table in the Great Hall, ate what he could stomach of breakfast, and went back to the window overlooking the pitch to read. The day was clear and just warm enough to melt the icicles that stuck to the outside of the window. He took occasional breaks from reading about plumbing in the 16th century to watch the water drip.

Pansy would expect some sort of a story when she got back, like he would have snuck off to Hogsmeade or tried to find the Chamber of Secrets.

Although, he would like to see it. He should have asked Granger where it was hidden, even if he couldn't mimic the parseltongue needed to get inside.

It was too late to ask now.

On his way to lunch, Weasley blocked the staircase, standing on the bottom step so Draco couldn't get by. The staircase moved and that left Draco stuck with him, Hermione nowhere in sight.

"Get lost, Weasley."

"I told you to stay away from Hermione."

"I don't much care what you said."

Ron held his wand, but even with the castle devoid of witnesses, Draco knew it was a bluff. Granger wouldn't approve.

"She's a good person and won't see through whatever you're pulling."

"And what's that?"

"I don't know, but nothing good," Ron said. "All these fake apologies, acting like you like her."

"Are you jealous you didn't get an apology or that I might fancy your girlfriend?" Draco asked.

"Hermione'd never like a prat like you."

"Then what's the issue?"

Ron moved up a bit as the staircase swung back forward. Draco stayed his ground.

"The point is that you're a Death Eater, and Hermione's too good to tell you when you overstep. You aren't wanted, Malfoy. And we both know you don't deserve her forgiveness."

One thing they could agree on.

"The potions assignment is over," Draco said. "I have no reason to speak to your girlfriend again."

Hermione agreed she saw him as a bad habit, and that she shouldn't want to be around him. She likely just saw him as a fad, something off limits and therefore interesting. When the novelty wore off, her interest would fade.

"I'm holding you to that," Ron said, and finally stepped aside.

Draco went down without pause, before the stairs had a chance to move again. He at least needed to make a show of dinner, even if he couldn't get down much.

He sat at the end of the table, keeping to himself.


End file.
